


Another World

by mayamaia



Series: Old Man [4]
Category: Queen (Band)
Genre: (SORRY!), (also that), (really should have tagged that from the start), Fix It Broke It Oops, HIV/AIDS Crisis, Inevitability, M/M, Slow Burn, Stuck in the past, Time Travel, Work In Progress, speaking of which...
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-12
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-01 16:35:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23620168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayamaia/pseuds/mayamaia
Summary: Since life goes on, it's time to put out the Jazz album and go on tour!  Wait, they're not calling it Jazz anymore.  Wait, the world is changing.  It's Freddie's turn to wonder how much does Brian really know, and how different has Brian become?
Relationships: Anita Dobson/Brian May, Brian May/Chrissie Mullen, Brian May/Freddie Mercury, Dominique Beyrand/Roger Taylor, Joe Fanelli/Freddie Mercury, John Deacon/Veronica Tetzlaff
Series: Old Man [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1550002
Comments: 180
Kudos: 103





	1. Mise En Scène

**Author's Note:**

> I really hate posting WIPs, but I also really don't want this to languish unseen forever. I haven't added to it in a couple of months, but four chapters are written so far to a point I'm willing to call them done, and I'd rather make them available than just fret over it all.

“Look, all I’m saying is that January is a crap time to release music, and any earlier we’d have to do some pandering winter wonderland shit.”

Queen was having a discussion, if one chose to put it gently. After buying Mountain Studios, they had all agreed to loosen up the recording timeline, but just how much was considerably more uncertain. Other groups still had recording time reserved there, they weren’t planning to interfere with that, but neither did they intend to just move to Montreux as a unit and sneak into their own studio for midnight sessions. So they needed to hash out when they really wanted to finish and release the next record, and when they’d rather start the next tour.

Roger continued, his hands punctuating his words, “And I’m not keen to record any fucking Christmas tracks, thanks.” 

Brian spoke up, “Well maybe not this year, but you shouldn’t dismiss the idea permanently.”

Roger stared at him, and bit back, “Yeah, maybe when I’m doddering and forgotten that I’m a fucking rockstar, I won’t care.”

Freddie could see Brian bite his lip. Good, a moment of restraint. The man might know what discretion looked like but he barely even tried to exercise it in the studio.

John spoke up. “Look, if we’re going to delay, we might as well give it five months as four. We could aim for Spring, and catch people looking forward to summer coming. Bicycle Race would really fit best when the weather is promising to get warmer, wouldn’t it?”

“March, then?”

“The Ides of March,” Freddie said and laughed at Brian cringing slightly. “Let’s defy a little prophecy, Caesar.”

Brian glared at him, but Roger was the one who spoke up. “We’ve seen enough knife fights break out among the fans for a lifetime, you ask me.”

“I was thinking the 21st actually,” John said. “Primavera and all that.”

“Well I’m positive the launch party could make a marvelous fertility ritual.” Freddie already had some delightful ideas, as a matter of fact. And from the way Brian was blushing… but then Brian spoke up.

“Mardi Gras. Dreamer’s Ball is an homage to New Orleans, after all.” He looked like the words were being pulled out of him - Freddie would have to ask about that.

“And try to get people to buy it Ash Wednesday, or during Lent?” John sounded unbelieving.

“I hate to break it to you, Deaky, but not everybody on the planet is a Catholic.” Brian really could be infuriating when he used that oh-so-reasonable tone. “But even then, you know what Carnivale can be like. Just make sure to package the record with beads or something.”

“Ooh, but what sort of beads?” Freddie asked, trying very hard not to laugh when Brian blushed and murmured “oh my god.” Freddie failed entirely when Roger caught the joke and began to cackle.

“Oi, Brian would need a bit of loosening up first,” Roger laughed, “When was the last time you took off the wedding ring for a night? Could make you less of a tight arse.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re implying.”

“Yeah sure you don’t, just pull the stick out first.”

After tossing ideas around a little more, they settled on late February for a Mardi Gras launch party in New Orleans. It meant they could finish the album at leisure, plan the tour for spring and spend the winter holidays with their families, but on the other hand meant that they ought also to remind people they were an active band somewhere in the downtime. 

Freddie suggested Christmas Eve again, but couldn’t resist saying that Roger could dress as Father Christmas, which sent Brian into such an uncontrollable fit of chuckling that Roger cursed him soundly and utterly refused to play anywhere on the holiday. New Years it would be, if Gerry could find some place appropriate.

* * *

The thing was, Brian was rarely prepared to argue these days. He would snark and snipe a little, mostly at Roger, but there were places he’d grow silent when one might have expected his vocal opinion, which Freddie assumed meant Brian had once upon a different time been proved soundly wrong. Then too there were times nothing could budge him, which would be old ground except he didn’t even bother to pretend to listen. Freddie hated it, and hoped it would pass soon as the world grew more different from Brian’s memory.

But just as he was silent from time to time regarding individual songs, he seemed to constantly be trying to talk to John, a sort of courtly behavior that confused nobody so much as Deaky himself. It was as if John, not Freddie, had been the one to die, and Brian was trying very hard to regain things he had failed to appreciate before they were lost.

Freddie thought, sometimes, as he watched Brian earnestly trying to coax opinions out of John, that it was very fortunate that the new Brian had arrived shortly after his son was born, so people would just attribute behavior changes to the adjustment to fatherhood and its changed priorities. Because Brian was absolute shit at pretending to be anything like normal.

The insistent efforts Brian made to recapture Deaky had made something else startlingly clear to Freddie. Brian had shown absolutely no shyness in telling Freddie that he wasn’t merely missed, but that people had loved him to the end, that Brian himself loved him to the end, but his behavior towards John, who had supposedly only retired, showed that however he had failed to connect to John in the other world, he had not missed that chance with his version of Freddie.

He thought of the song Brian had played for him, Bijou, one night when Freddie had demanded a little glimpse of how Brian had handled him dying. He had been prepared for the mourning ache of the guitar’s verses, but the sparse lyrics had struck him hard, how like a marriage vow they were, but as a present perfect. We are now, so we will be, and there was some great strange weight Brian had placed on the word ‘forever,’ even as thinly as he had sung it. 

Without any true precedent, Freddie found himself with complete confidence that Brian loved him wholeheartedly. It had become an undercurrent in every interaction, subtle when Brian drifted towards him in a room, but here it was nakedly apparent in something they had apparently written together. They had genuinely, permanently become family. Unlike born family, though, it was plain that some version of Freddie had earned it from Brian, in some long series of events he could not access, except by the stories Brian thought or chose to tell.

It was terribly, terribly strange, Freddie thought, to so envy his own self for deserving the benefit of those unknown efforts, which Freddie now received as a grace every day.

* * *

Freddie was sitting out on the veranda one October afternoon, sketching possible new stage outfits while in the other corner Brian was asking John about his plans for the holiday they would all take in November and December. John apparently had relatively achievable ambitions regarding golfing, and Brian appeared to be struggling to maintain interest. He had gone into some tangent regarding “environmental design” so a golf course might be less dangerous for little fuzzy animals that lived nearby. John made some noncommittal noise, then went back into the villa on an excuse involving mimosas.

A shoulder and head landed gently against Freddie’s back, a few curls finding their way over his shoulder. He suppressed a chuckle, but Brian would be able to feel the shake of it.

“I’m not sure what your aim was with that, darling. Do you expect John to design the places before he attends them? I think the intent is relaxation, not responsibility.”

Brian grumbled, “My intent was to get some perspective on holiday plans at home with families, not my fault his mind was on the mindless sport of the wealthy.” His head rolled along Freddie’s back so it was entirely on Freddie’s shoulder and Brian was looking skyward. “I don’t even want to think of some of the sports still going strong back at home, the blood sports. I think we were making a good dent in them in my time, but I don’t have any of my people to get it all going again this far back. And I maybe should be focusing on other things.”

Freddie turned his head away from his sketchpad to a mass of hair which still mostly hid Brian’s face from him. He laughed a little and looked back to the paper. “You are getting as cozy with people as Roger, old man.”

Brian shrugged, making Freddie’s hand slip so a line jagged a bit. “I know him better than anyone on the planet, spent fifty years with him after all. It’s only natural something should rub off.”

“Oh, that’s right, your ten year anniversary is coming up, isn’t it?” Freddie muttered as he erased the error. “I’d recommend against the traditional gifts, darling, aluminium will make anything tacky.”

Brian lifted his head and swatted Freddie’s shoulder for that.


	2. Planning and Lack Thereof

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shaking things up on every front really.

Perhaps it should be even more odd that Freddie hadn’t fallen deep into a panic about his own mortality, only he had never been particularly frightened of the great unknown. There were too-familiar terrors, of hurt or loss or betrayal, that seemed so inevitable that anything uncertain could hardly matter. Better to get it over with, once you had the courage, lance the boils and let the festering drain away.

But suddenly, now, several of those terrible inevitabilities had been transformed into comforting ones. No, the band wouldn’t leave him over his personal life any more than Mary had. Mary wouldn’t change her mind. Yes, Freddie could and maybe would find some sort of permanence in romance someday, though Brian refused to give him any of those details with the excuse that one should “never interfere with the magic or it might not go off.” Though he had also implied that Freddie had done something terribly embarrassing when meeting whoever-he-was.

Freddie hated Brian having more of Freddie’s own secrets than not, or more than Freddie had of Brian’s. He would find it invasive if Brian were any less matter-of-fact about them - no, it was still invasive, but Brian couldn’t help it and didn’t take advantage. When it bothered him, though, Freddie had come to ask prying questions in a semi-conscious effort to equalize them, and Brian had freely accepted his duty in life to answer whatever Freddie chose to ask.

So. No panic, perhaps rather the opposite. Freddie found himself much more capable of handling the upheavals close to hand: David leaving felt less terrible than when the relationship had begun to devolve, and Freddie felt a little more willing to hear Joe out about how difficult it was to be a secret his boyfriend had to hide from the press. So maybe Joe would drift away to become Freddie’s employee for real, eventually, what was important was that Brian said he would never truly lose him.

As long as they both lived.

* * *

Freddie had proposed their tactics a few weeks ago.

“Perhaps we should start a rumor. A conspiracy theory, that some government has discovered some new sort of… of _smallpox,_ after all that effort at inoculating everybody everywhere, that isn’t airborne, but passes by sex and needles. And purposely infected a few gays in New York. Make the monster awful enough that they’re cautious even if they don’t believe it.”

“I don’t know, Fred, it sounds like that could backfire badly. You make it out to be Russia, the Cold War could get hot.”

“But if I make it out to be the US of A, darling, no worse than some of the crap they pulled against any of their other groups looking for civil rights. Or than Roger says they’ve done in Africa, and you did say that’s where it will do the worst with the ordinary population.”

Brian looked like he still wanted to object, but couldn’t find sufficient grounds. After a few seconds, he nodded reluctantly.

“Alright! So I just need to whisper in the right ear…”

Brian shook his head. “It shouldn’t trace obviously back to you. And you aren’t the most credible, darling, in science OR politics.”

“Don’t you darling _me_ ,” Freddie said, with some amusement.

Brian smiled. “You don’t own the word, Fred, all evidence otherwise.” He looked down at his feet. “I should start it. Nobody would expect I came up with it on my own, it’s not my field. And they’d expect me to have a credible source even if they don’t know what.”

“You’re not a good enough gossip,” Freddie said dismissively. After a moment’s consideration, he suggested, “But you made me keep Prenter on until someone can entice him away because he apparently IS.”

“Selling a story is not spreading a rumor, Freddie.”

Freddie waved a hand, “But still he does chatter in the proper crowd. And he knows enough of you to maybe take you as the authority you think you are.”

Brian half-smiled. “Well alright. I suppose I can enjoy making him uncomfortable too.”

“Darling, for a man declaring peace with his enemy, you certainly do finger your dagger behind your back.”

“I have plenty of reasons to dislike him that didn’t cause you harm. Actively anyway, he got too involved with the music for a while and an album flopped.”

“Oh stop teasing your stories and just tell them, Bri.”

* * *

The next day, between meetings about scheduling the single release and booking a proper venue on New Years’ day, Brian pulled Prenter aside and quietly handed him a box of condoms.

“The fuck is this for?” Paul’s voice, from Freddie’s vantage point just outside the room where he was unobtrusive but could see others coming, had a note of disgust.

Brian rolled his eyes. “I know you’re not about to get pregnant but I’ve heard some things from an old classmate that worry me. I hate to act the part of a fearmonger, but I don’t want you to die just cause you can get fucked.” He said it in a neutral enough tone that Paul looked at him like he was trying to figure out just how much to be insulted.

Prenter’s face settled on some variant of _He’s suggesting I’ve got venereal disease,_ and he sneered, “You can keep your bloody wrappings for the next whore you meet,” and started to turn away, but Brian caught his shoulder.

“This has nothing to do with you specifically. Andrew was talking about the Americans, and modifications of old viruses so they’d only spread in controlled populations. And he said something about, and I’m sorry, these aren’t my words, but ‘taking faggots and lab rats as equally expendable’.”

Freddie’s eyebrows rose. Brian had either heard that from somebody in his first timeline, or he had just shown an unusual degree of insight into the mind of ...no wait, that could easily have been himself. Or Elton. This shit was so bloody weird.

Paul yanked his shoulder away, but stood where he was, staring at Brian. “There’s always some CIA story going ‘round, you shouldn’t listen to that crap.”

“And I wouldn’t, except there IS something happening in New York, a sort of pneumonia that goes with face sores, like a smallpox that can’t spread through the air so it spreads through sex and blood.” Brian took Paul’s unresisting hand and pressed the box into it. “I don’t want to think how many girls I could have hurt back when I was sick in ‘74, without these.”

Well that was an interesting angle. Freddie tried to remember if he’d ever seen Brian with condoms before this year - he didn’t recall, but he absolutely remembered walking in on Brian in more than a few compromising situations during that first tour with Mott the Hoople. And being walked in on, too. No privacy, and groupies who were bolder than brass.

Freddie’s reverie was interrupted by Prenter striding out of the room and almost colliding with him. Paul stepped back, then waved the box at him. “He give you his little freak out too?”

Freddie raised his eyebrows. “Oh yes, the junkie pneumonia problem. Warned me away from anyone with track marks and gave me a metric tonne of those, too. But he’s got experience with these things, you know that, so he’s probably not wrong.”

Paul’s eyebrows furrowed, and as he turned down the hallway, Freddie could see him slide the box into his pocket.

* * *

That was weeks ago. Now, Freddie was on the phone with Joe, who was talking about how quiet the flat was with only the cats for company.

“Oh, but Tom and Jerry are such good company, dear,” Freddie said, quietly envying Joe for the chance to spend time with them.

“They like Mary more than me, unless I’m cooking. Oh god, what am I going on about, Freddie, I need to spend time with actual humans, who I can talk to! And that doesn’t include Mary, she’s really only here for the cats and then out.”

“Well you aren’t trapped there, darling, London’s got plenty of lovely museums and restaurants and things.”

Joe answered, slightly exasperated, “I’m not a tourist anymore, Freddie, and who do I know to go out with?”

It was a good point. Joe knew Freddie’s friends, but he knew them as Freddie’s friends, not his own. He took a deep breath. “What would you like to be doing with your time then?”

Freddie heard Joe sigh over the phone. “I miss working, actually. And I miss nights in the Village.” Freddie tried not to bristle at that, but Joe continued, “Not that I want to be cruising, just that I want people around who understand me. But at least when I have work to do, I have something to make me think.”

Several answers cycled through Freddie’s head. _You never need to work again,_ was probably the most useless of them, and _What exactly would you be doing with these people who understand you,_ the most unkind. He swallowed, and tried to remember that he wanted to stay friends with Joe when things ended, because things would end. He needed to stay friends with Joe. He finally found his voice with something neutral, “I wish you would tell me how I can help you, my darling.”

Joe’s voice, when it came, was subdued. “When will you be back?”

Freddie smiled at the receiver. What a sweet solution. “Just a few short weeks, lovvie. Beginning of November.”

“Right. I’ll see you then,” Joe said, “Goodbye.”

“Oh must you go, darling?” Something still seemed to be wrong in Joe’s voice.

“I don’t want to keep you.”

“Oh, nonsense, Joe, dear, you couldn’t possibly,” Freddie said, when the door to the sitting room opened. He looked up, and Roger stood there, looking white as a sheet.

“Hey Fred, oh shit you’re busy,” Roger said, and immediately turned around to walk out.

Freddie stood, accidentally dragging the phone off the table by the cord. “No wait!” Turning into the receiver, he said, “Sorry, darling, I think there’s an emergency,” and hung up and replaced the phone while Joe was still saying it was alright.

Freddie strode over to where Roger swayed in the doorway, and steadied him at the shoulders. “What happened? Did somebody have an accident? Come sit down. Do I need to have someone bring you water? Something stronger?”

Roger let Freddie guide him to a chair, and laughed, mumbling, “Accident. Right.” He leaned his elbows on his knees, then dropped his head into his hands. “Some kind of accident.”

“But not an actual one?” Freddie was more uncertain, now. Did Roger need comforting, or some kind of advice? Anger from Roger was familiar, and grieving could come to anyone but this seemed more like fear. “Roger, darling, you’re worrying me.”

“ ‘s a baby,” Roger mumbled.

“What was that?”

“Dom’s having one. A baby. Fuck.”

Freddie’s first instinct had him grinning helplessly. Good thing Roger wasn’t looking at him. He tried to keep his voice normal, at least. “Well, that IS a turn of events. Now, water, or something stronger?”

Roger looked up. “She’s told me she’s keeping it, like I was going to try to stop her or something.”

Freddie knew he was completely failing to wipe the silly grin away. “May I congratulate you then, darling?”

Roger gave a half-hearted laugh, but it didn’t reach his panicked eyes. “I think John cursed me. What kid would ever want me as a dad?”

Freddie sat on the ottoman. “Well, what child wouldn’t? I expect you’ll be far too indulgent and Dominique shall be forced perpetually into the role of disciplinarian.”

“Oh god, Dom. She told me she’s definitely not going to marry me, too. Like she was planning for all the weird shitty things I could have said before I’d even think of them.” Roger looked pleadingly at Freddie. “Do I really seem like the guy who will try to tell a girl how to live her life just cause he knocked her up? Am I that kind of guy? I don’t- I really don’t want to be that type.”

Freddie arched an eyebrow at him. “I know you aren’t implying anything about Deaky, darling.”

“No!” Roger shook his head vigorously. “He and Ronnie both feel the same way, I didn’t mean it that way! But… Dom and I were on the same page too, I thought.”

Freddie had finally calmed enough to put on a concerned face. “What did happen, darling? You haven’t said.”

Roger shrugged. “She was sick before she visited last July. Didn’t say she was just off a run of antibiotics, and I think those mess with the pill.”

“Oh really,” Freddie said, “I don’t think I knew that.” He looked thoughtfully at Roger, who seemed steadier. “Beer, I think. Liquor might still make you topple. Stay put.”

He swept off towards the kitchen, where he grabbed a couple of beers for Roger and vodka for himself. He needed more hands. He stuffed one of the beers in a pocket, put down the Stoli and grabbed a shotglass to put in another pocket, then gathered it up again and returned to the sitting room.

There he found Brian, looking genuinely surprised at Roger. “She is?!” Brian was saying.

“Yeah, yeah, don’t get fucking started about it,” Roger said.

“No, Rog, I wouldn’t, I promise,” Brian said. “You’ll be the best of dads.”

“Sure,” Roger said, disgruntled. “I’ve had such a great example to work off of.”

Freddie interrupted, “No, Roger, darling. Don’t think that way. You know better, and you can be better too.”

Before Roger could object again, Brian cut in, “Rog, you’ll do fine. I swear, I swear to you, your kids will adore you.” Freddie raised an eyebrow at Brian, and he closed his mouth and bit his lip.

Roger was looking at the floor again. “You can’t know that, mate, but thanks for the vote of confidence.” He looked up, at both of them. “Really. Thanks.”

Freddie smiled, and handed him a beer with a churchkey. He took the other out of his pocket and handed it to Brian, then started to pour himself a vodka.

Brian snorted to himself. When Roger gave him a quizzical glance, he shrugged. “Oh, it’s nothing,” he said, but he was beginning to blush. Now Freddie started to give him a questioning look. Brian’s eyes widened. “No really, you don’t want to know.”

A challenge. Freddie said, “You aren’t getting away like that.” Roger kept looking at Brian and shook his head in agreement with Freddie.

Brian gave a self-conscious laugh. “Fine. Now we all know Dom didn’t try a strap-on for your birthday, happy now?”

There was a beat of silence, in which Brian’s face went from bemused sarcasm to a hint of alarm.

“Holy crap,” Roger said with near-reverence, while Freddie just stared. “Holy crap. Brian, who introduced you to the wide world of sex toys?”

“What? No, I can know about that, it’s not that strange.”

Roger began to grin. “Chrissie doesn’t seem the type.”

Brian really began to look worried. “Just because I’ve heard about it…”

“Hey Freddie, do you suppose it was Peaches?”

Brian spluttered at him, “I didn’t get pegged by Peaches!”

Roger giggled, “No, but you did get awfully hung up on her. Bet she was the first to finger you during a blowie.” Brian went beet red. Freddie, meanwhile, nearly choking on a stifled giggle, remembered that he had a vodka right there in his hand and swallowed it fast.

Brian cleared his throat, and said, “There’s really nothing I can say that won’t convince you it’s somehow even more prurient, obviously.”

Roger just chortled. “Too right, you pervert.” He took a swig of his beer and then raised it in salute. “Cheers, mates, I’m gonna find Deaks and tell him the news!”

Brian watched him go and mumbled, “God, I hope he means about the baby.” At that, Freddie finally burst into full laughter.

When he looked up, Brian was giving him a long-suffering look. Freddie just beamed at him, and asked, “Really?!”

Brian rolled his eyes. “It wasn’t Peaches.” Freddie gave a little crow of laughter. Brian threw up his hands, and sighed immensely. Then he looked at Freddie straight on and said, “Anita is a very adventurous girl.”

When that just made Freddie laugh even more, Brian laughed faintly himself, and shook his head while leaving the room.

* * *

Late that night, Freddie was at the desk in his room when Brian opened the door, and without a by-your-leave went over to Freddie’s nightstand. Freddie began to cackle as Brian pulled out one of the little bottles in there and poured some into an empty jar. Brian marched out of the room with a quiet “Oh fuck you, and Roger too.”

After a moment, though, he stuck his head back in. “Freddie, you know you shouldn’t be using oils with condoms, right? You need something properly made for them.”

Freddie dropped his head onto the desk and giggled to himself until Brian just huffed and left for real.

It was really no surprise that Freddie’s dreams were a little wild that night.


	3. It's Not Just You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Foreshadowing?

Gerry had to hear Roger’s news, so they could leave a gap in the tour mid-April. The changes to the tour schedule meant the crew got to hear about it too. Every one of them was delighted with the opportunity: someone handed Roger a condom every single day.

It reeked of being Crystal’s idea. Roger complained beautifully at first, which of course encouraged them all. But eventually, Roger just groaned each time he was handed one and dropped it on the nearest flat surface. Freddie noticed Brian pocketing them one day when he passed by.

So when he was about to go out that evening, he wandered into the sitting room where Brian was reading his correspondence and put out a hand. “My turn, hand it over,” he said with a grin.

Brian looked up in some confusion, but caught on after a look at Freddie’s expression. “ ‘S why I took it anyway,” he said, giving him the foil packet from his pocket. “Better than you running out.”

Freddie shook his head at him. “You could try to be a little more obsessive, you know. Glower in the sidelines while I’m dancing, perhaps, or wait up to interrogate my paramours when we sneak home at 4 in the morning.”

Brian groaned. “I am trying not to be overbearing, Freddie.”

Freddie swatted his shoulder. “I do see that. But try not to worry, too. It makes me nervous, and it’s not just a little insulting.”

Brian nodded unhappily.

“Brian. What are you going to do when we part ways next week?”

“Start watching the rest of my life go to hell, probably.”

“I thought you were trying to hold off the implosion of your marriage.”

Brian stood up to pace, but gave up quickly to lean over a bookshelf. “My father smokes.” He said it quietly, looking at his hands.

Freddie was puzzled. Brian had never liked smoking, but he put up with it well enough without complaint, even now. Roger smoked, Freddie smoked, most of the roadies smoked. He tilted his head at Brian, but couldn’t even word the question, Brian’s reasoning was so opaque to him.

Brian finally glanced up, then looked down again immediately. “I never liked it, he always knew I never liked it, he was never going to stop, and he is never going to stop now. He is still going to die from lung cancer in about 10 years and I won’t be able to stop it, and it will take years and a lot of pain before that and I won’t be able to stop it, and I’m not ready to see him in pain all over again.”

Freddie realized after a few seconds that he was holding his breath. He released it to speak, but found no words waiting. “Oh,” he said.

Brian nodded as if Freddie had just shared some profound sentiment. “Yeah.” He pushed himself off of the bookshelf he was leaning on and picked up his glass to return it to the kitchen. He paused at the doorway. “Goodnight, Fred.”

Freddie waved his fingers and nodded him out, and then he was alone in the silence with Brian’s retreating footsteps, only faint rustling revealing how many people moved inside the villa’s walls.

For perhaps the first time, Freddie began to understand the sheer magnitude of the trick the gods had played on Brian. He had been listening from the start, he knew Brian had had daughters and grandchildren, but none of them seemed quite real. Freddie had never met them, and never would. He knew Harold May.

 _All parents leave their children eventually,_ he thought, but it felt hollow. For all Brian had broken away from his parents’ values to come thus far, even his rebellions were defined by Harold’s actions, the guitar they had built together. The entrance music Queen used at every concert ended on the chords of Brian’s ode to the gulf that stretched between him and his father. Harold would be intractable in any world. Helplessness was inevitable.

Freddie knew there had always been monsters in the depths of Brian’s mind, but until now he’d been sure they would always be able to combat them. They would prove Harold wrong and conquer the world, someone could always draw Brian out with music or wine or companionship of some variety, all Freddie really needed was to keep him from fading into the darkness. But leviathans were writhing in the waters, stretching gargantuan limbs that dwarfed Freddie’s experience to breach the surface, and he realized with some shock that he still didn’t know how Brian had grappled with them and lived.

And Freddie felt angry. He wanted to be angry at Brian’s father, but he seemed too small a target. There was a verse which teased Freddie’s memory, a curse on the gods by one of the pre-Raphaelite painter-poets. Rossetti? His sister? Freddie closed his eyes to remember the words:

_“I would the wine of time, made sharp and sweet / By multitudinous days and nights and tears / And many mixing savours of strange years / Was no more trampled of them under feet / Cast out and spilled about the holy places”_

Something like that, anyway. From an attempt at a proper Greek tragedy. Swinburne! That was who wrote it.

_“I would it were given them as a fruit to eat / And Death to drink as water”_

Freddie glanced at the bookshelves, half thinking to find a book of English poetry there, but his mind tumbled back into its own rhythms, and he walked over to the desk instead, moving the mallard paperweights to find paper and pen.

_The storm has cracked the murky sky  
And tossed the seas of time  
Sails that glinted in the sunlight  
Stand now tattered, salton rimed_

Ugh, Freddie thought, that needs work.

_My heart has got no anchor  
There’s death waiting in the tide  
And Fate, the kraken, writhes  
As his maw has opened wide..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Those aren't the actual words from Atalanta in Calydon by Algernon Swinburne, but since Freddie was pulling them from memory I pulled them from mine. The whole passage is marvelous, about what we could say of the gods if we didn't fear their wrath. It's honest, and very very angry. I first read it in Minorities, TE Lawrence's personal poetry collection.


	4. Separating

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a break! One they didn't get in Brian's timeline. Let's not think about how poorly Brian does when he isn't working, or in winter, or any of the things on his mind, or that his sole confidant is going elsewhere. Let's think about NONE of that.
> 
> Anyway, this is just everybody packing up to go on vacation. Nothing dramatic here.

The morning before Queen were going to separate for their holidays, they held a press conference. Brian shifted in his seat and glanced at his bandmates smiling for cameras as they awaited the reporters’ questioning.

Freddie was periodically glancing down at his hands, picking at his nails. John was off at the side, sitting straight like a schoolboy expecting to be called on by the teacher. Roger was in the middle for once, since he had the biggest news, and hiding nervousness behind a bright smile.

The reporters were predictable as ever: “Why is it Queen is taking a break from recording? Is there strife in the studio, clashing egos?”

Freddie shrugged, and Brian saw him roll his eyes a little. “We just wanted to give it more time. We’ve got this lovely studio of our own now, and what’s the point in having your own studio if you can’t, you know,” he gestured with his left hand at how obvious it ought to be. “We just want the freedom, darling, you know, to make the best music we can.”

Brian cleared his throat, and took over. “And of course there’s always arguments, that’s what makes us so strong as a group. Roger and I, uh, for example, we’re always head to head, but it’s because we all know what one another can do and in the end of the day, he’s my brother and he always will be. Queen’s more of a family today than yesterday, and tomorrow we will be even more.”

Roger sat up, and broke in, “And that’s part of the news, really. We’ve got a couple more kids on the way, and one of them’s mine. Dominique’s, and mine. John’s got another coming too.”

There was a rustling murmur among the press before the next few questions were clear enough to hear. “Will you be marrying and settling down, then?” “Is this the end of the rock and roll lifestyle?”

Freddie scoffed. “Dominique knows she can trust Roger not to tie her down, or she wouldn’t be with him. And there’s plenty of rock and roll in the works, maybe a bit of jazz in there, we’re planning to have a massive release party on Mardi Gras in New Orleans. We’re thinking of calling the album Mardi Gras, in fact,” he said, looking over at John, who picked up his cue.

“Or Carnivale,” John said, leaning over the mic, “we’re planning on leaning into the fifth season element of it.”

Roger took over, “Yeah, we weren’t writing anything that fit the Christmas market, everything was a bit more sunlight and freedom and better for Spring. So we’ll be on tour through March, as the warm weather comes back.”

The reporters were on their usual drama over musical achievements crusade, though. “Will this be your last album as a band?” “John, what do you think of a bandmate having a child out of wedlock?” “When is Freddie going to start having kids?” The questions would be funny, if Brian didn’t know any answer they gave would be warped and repeated in the echo chamber forever.

They did their best to control the gaggle, but once they’d announced the plan for special concerts at New Years and managed to hint at their progress a little more, they wrapped it up and headed back to the villa for lunch.

Roger would be driving to France, to work out what his life with Dominique was going to look like now, and just to spend more time with her. John was taking his family to some resort in America, where Ronnie, a couple of months further along than Dom and much more uncomfortable with it, could be pampered properly and John could play golf. Freddie was going back to London for a few days before he’d be taking Joe to Venice for a while.

Brian wasn’t ready to leave, not really, but at the same time he felt he’d been away from his family for far too long. Just because Queen was being canny with their finances by staying out of the country didn’t mean Chrissie was willing to come into tax exile with him. And perhaps it was just as well - he knew they were better to one another from a distance. But his son and parents were in England too, and he really wondered how much it mattered when all was said and done. He’d have to discuss it with Miami sometime.

He walked through the villa, to find everyone out on the terrace with a large buffet set up and Freddie talking with John about a conversation he’d had with Mary on her work managing his estate. “She is cataloguing things, I think, and reminding me that I need an actual house if I want to display them. But I only want the one house, and she knows it.”

Roger sauntered over to Brian with a half-finished beer in one hand and threw the other arm around Brian’s shoulders. “Alright Bri, you got one thing you gotta do in the next few weeks, mate.”

“Do I?” Brian asked, smiling, as he accepted a beer from Roy.

“Yeah,” Roger said with a serious nod. “You gotta go home, get laid properly, and come back less of a git.” He smiled mischievously. “It could even be by your wife.”

Freddie called over, “Or an _adventurous_ girl.”

Brian raised his eyes to the ceiling and groaned. “I hate you both so very much.”

John piped up, “Don’t bother with them, Brian. But hey, for your Christmas presents this year - should we make sure they’re in discreet packaging?”

Brian dropped his head and shook it, laughing. “You’re all terrible.” He looked up at them all smiling at his embarrassment - Freddie, John, and Roger, the greatest constant in his long life, and knew again as ever that there was no one on Earth he loved more, and few equally. “I’m going to miss you all terribly.”

Roger used his grip around Brian’s shoulder to jostle him. “It’s only a few weeks, you old woman. Not even long enough for you to lose your callouses. You’d better not, by the way mate, you’ve been playing good for the past months in studio, we need that on New Years.” 

“No fear, Rog.” Brian let his arm slide in across Roger’s back, so he could give him a little half-hug back, then escaped to fill a plate.

-

On the plane to London, however, the time seemed to yawn before him. Brian would need to be something better than merely civil with Chrissie, and he would have to try not to tell his mother, hopelessly and uselessly, everything he couldn’t do for her. How he wished there was use even in begging her forgiveness for being so powerless.

“This is impossible,” Freddie said from beside him, “There are too many names I could offer. What is it, a boy or a girl? What did I name it the first time? No, don’t tell me that, just answer the first question Brimi.”

Brian shook himself from his reverie and glanced over where Freddie was apparently brainstorming baby names. The wave of affection it roused cleared his thoughts of everything for a moment. “Has he asked you already?”

Freddie waved his hand, pencil still at the ready. “No, but I do want to be prepared. So, boy or girl?”

Brian laughed, “I don’t know.”

“What, do you mean Roger had a hermaphr-“

“No, Freddie, god!” SO many things were different in forty years, word use not the least. “No, it’s a different kid, it’s a year early!”

“Oh.” Freddie looked down at the page. “Well you’re useless then.” He looked up at Brian. “Things have already changed that much?”

Brian nodded. “Who knows how much.”

“Well then.” Freddie looked down at the paper again. “I’m thinking cats, Roger would appreciate that, the old cat breeder. What good names have to do with cats?”

Brian covered his eyes with a hand and laughed.

Getting off the plane in Heathrow, Mary and Chrissie were waiting for them. They stood somewhat stiffly apart, and Chrissie seemed relieved that Brian had arrived to defuse whatever tension had built in their conversation. She instantly moved to meet him, making Jimmy wave by wiggling his arm and then demanding a kiss. Brian leaned down to do his duty, and noticed out of the corner of his eye that Mary whispered something lowly to Freddie as she got her own kiss on the cheek.

Chrissie tugged on his arm, but he told her to wait for a moment and walked over to say goodbye. Freddie smiled up at him and put a hand on Brian’s back as Brian put an arm around his shoulders, half of a hug being better than one, practically speaking.

“You know to call, any time. Mary will be able to reach me,” Freddie said.

Brian nodded. “Thank you.”

Mary looked at him very oddly as Brian let go and walked back to his family. Chrissie, for her part, seemed determined to tell him everything that came to mind about the last several months and every minor acquaintance, and her chatter filled the trip to the waiting car, and the ride home, and their house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter I had completed before quarantine and I haven't written really since quarantine started. I'm going to try, but it's likely to be slow. Meantime, feel free to ask me questions in the comments, maybe it'll help the creative juices to flow.


	5. On Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can you tell I grew up before cell phones? Huh? Can ya? Can ya?
> 
> Note: I don't think I realized I was this nostalgic about it?

Despite the midnight hour, Freddie picked up on the third ring.

“Goooood _evening,_ you have reached the _palace_ of Frederick Mer-“

“Hi Freddie.”

“Brian? Oh, hold on darling.”

Brian heard the faint clacking of Freddie changing hands on the receiver, and a chair being moved as Freddie settled himself more comfortably for a long conversation. He felt his throat tighten and his eyes prick with the strength of gratitude so simple a gesture inspired.

“Alright, Brimi, I’m ready. What happened?”

Brian huffed a laugh. It wasn’t that the day had gone wrong, so much, as that it had been full of little strains. He’d left his teacup on the mantlepiece again, only a few minutes after the last time Chrissie had asked him not to. Squeaky had twined her feline self around his feet insistently enough to make him drop the cup five minutes later (though better that than accidentally stepping on her). Jimmy had fussed about Brian holding him, when not glaring suspiciously at him like he had for the past three days.

And then Chrissie had been in the mood.

“Nothing particular, Freddie, not exactly.”

“You don’t share your insomnia without reason, dear.”

Brian took a deep breath, held it for a couple of seconds, then let it out. “I don’t want any more kids, Freddie. Not with her.”

“Uh. Wait… you adore your kids. You said you were terrified she’d take them away, when it ended.”

Brian sniffed, and felt his eyes pricking hotly. “They wouldn’t be… I can’t do it, Fred. I can’t get Louisa and Emily back, how can I…?”

“Oh, Brian.”

“I’m not… I’m not against having other children but. But what if. What if she looked so like Louisa that I would forget she wasn’t? What if I tried to make her into…?”

“Is Chrissie pregnant? Is that the problem?”

Brian shook his head as if it could be seen through the phone line. “No, uh. No. She just. No, I’ve been practicing what I preach.”

Freddie laughed. “That’s one way to put it.”

“Well I’d rather not be putting it at all, thank you very much.”

“You’d hardly follow Roger’s directive, then,” Freddie said, apparently trying to lighten things a little.

“Roger can get stuffed. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

“Doesn’t he?” Freddie asked. “I mean, we all know what you’re like in a dry spell. And in winter.”

Brian groaned. “It’s really not that simple. I mean… I’ve told you she just seems all wrong now. But while for sure I’d rather not take Roger’s rude wedding ring suggestion seriously and make my errors twice, it’s not like…” He leaned his elbows on the telephone stand and ran the fingernails of his left hand over his scalp. “Everything’s a little messed up, you see. They all look like children.”

Freddie’s voice puzzled at him with an inquisitive note. “...? You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.”

Brian shook his head again. “Look, most girls… I’m supposed to be 31, right? Well, my youngest was older than that. Not by much, but… girls this age look like they’re actually, you know. Girls. Little girls.”

“Oh.” After a pause, Freddie added, “We’re all your age too, Brian.”

Brian snorted softly. “I think my brain would spit sparks before I could think of you as kids. Or I’m just a boy again around you all. Mind you, remember how hard I had it talking to Roger for the first few weeks?”

“Right, you barely even looked at him. Because he didn’t look like Father Christmas.”

“Right. And he did look like R- eh, he looked like all his kids at once.”

“No telling me the names I picked! Now I’ll be stuck thinking of things that start with R.”

“Sorry!” Brian laughed for real this time.

He could hear a smile in Freddie’s voice when he added, “Now tell me truthfully Brimi - how many of his girls became models?”

“Really, Fred -”

There was a rattling of the other phone line being picked up, and Chrissie’s voice came sleepily over the receiver from upstairs, “Brian?”

Brian answered, subdued again, “Sorry for waking you.”

“Who’s on the line?”

“Hello, Chrissie dear.”

“Oh, Freddie, it’s you.” She seemed slightly nonplussed at that. “It’s one thirty in the morning boys, must you work now?!”

“We’re not working, just passing the time. I’m sorry, Fred, I should go.”

Chrissie groaned, “I don’t know why you can’t wait for a civilised hour… Anyone would think you hadn’t just left them all on Monday…”

“I’m so sorry darling, you go right back to sleep and I’ll let your husband join you.”

“Goodnight boys,” she said, and hung up.

Brian sighed. “Well…”

“You run along, lovvie. And you don’t have to wait for a civilised hour, Brimi, none of us are civilised here.”

Brian smiled again. “Bless ya. Good night, Fred.”

* * *

“Mercury residence, who may I say is calling?”

“Oh.” Brian was mildly disoriented at hearing Joe’s voice sounding stiffly professional over the wire. “Uh, hi Joe, is Freddie in?”

“Brian? He’s occupied at the moment, may I take a message?”

Brian was about to say he’d just call back later when he heard Freddie’s voice faintly over the background saying “Oh, wait, hand it over.” A moment later, after the rattle of the phone changing hands, he heard more clearly, “Sorry about that, Brian, it was mostly a ruse to keep people away, but you’re not people.”

“Oh gee thanks.”

Freddie sputtered a laugh. “You know what I mean.”

“I’m sorry to be interrupting, really.”

“Oh you aren’t interrupting anything important darling,” he said, though in the background, Joe sounded mildly offended at that. “What is the trouble darling?”

“Do you remember what I - what Chrissie and I gave Veronica when Robert and Michael were born? I don’t want to accidentally suggest we buy the same thing for Laura…”

“Ooh, _Laura_ you say?”

“...crap. Sorry.”

Freddie’s laugh tinkled over the phone line. “Don’t be, dear. I don’t mind knowing this one. And I’m sure everyone will find it in character for you to forget these things. I certainly don’t recall what you’ve gotten them, it’s hard enough remembering all the gifts I’ve given myself.”

“Okay. Thanks anyway Freddie.”

“Is that all you called for, darling?”

“Yeah. I- I’m fine, it genuinely was. Take care of yourself on your travels.” _Ugh,_ Brian thought, _I sound like a granddad._

“I will, mother, you too.”

“Oh fuck off,” Brian laughed.

“That’s more like it. Bye, Brimi.”

* * *

Brian blinked blearily at the empty space next to him. Chrissie must be up for an early morning feeding. What had woken him? There had been bells in the dream he’d felt torn from, but he didn’t have any alarm set…?

Chrissie poked her head in the door. “You’ve got a telephone call. Long distance, it’s Freddie forgetting the time difference as usual.”

Brian blinked at her as she left the room and then felt on the nightstand for his iPhone… before remembering he had to pick up the actual phone on the other nightstand. He rolled, then fumbled for a moment, nearly dropping the receiver before successfully pulling it to his ear.

“Hey Fred. Venician night life kept you up all night?”

“We’re not in Venice, yet, actually,” Freddie said, as a click indicated Chrissie hanging up the other end of the line. “We made a side trip. It’s past midnight in New York.”

Brian was awake immediately. “What…?”

“Joe happened to mention he was suffering a bout of homesickness in front of friends who felt inspired to invite us for a long weekend. There was really no way to demur unexceptionally.”

“Oh god,” Brian said, resting his forehead in his hand. He tried to remember how much he had said to Freddie about how things had gone, and tried to remind himself to trust him.

“Darling, just. Brian.” Freddie’s voice was strained. “Dear, I need you to tell me my friends are not going to die.”

A rush of relief washed through Brian, followed by a pang of guilt for being happy that Freddie had said that. He closed his eyes. “I can’t say that, you know I can’t. Things… things are going to change. And you have a lot of friends, everyone loves you. I don’t know them all.”

At his next words, Freddie’s voice sounded terribly weary. “Bri, I really need you to tell me something useful.”

“Okay.” Brian marshalled his thoughts. “Okay, uh… who are you with?”

“We’re visiting with some of Peter’s friends. Peter Straker, I helped with his album?”

“Oh, he’s such a lovely man. Yes, I know him. He’ll be fine, he should be - he’s not really all that wild, is he?”

“I’d hardly say that, dear, he’s always kept up with me.”

Brian shook his head fondly and then sighed, “Well, I remember him still kicking around doing lots of things here and there. And he’s a friend of Elton’s too, right? Elton got married to a lovely gentleman and they had kids with a surrogate only just a few years ago.”

“Elton John? He’s older than you.”

“And his kids are my grandkids age, yes. I can’t imagine where he gets the energy.”

But Freddie sounded mournful again a moment later, saying, “I want this to be helping, Brimi dear, but I just… why them? How do I know someone’s not going to…?” He sighed. “What does it look like? I know I haven’t wanted such detail but now I think I need it.”

Brian shut his eyes hard and curled into himself under the covers. “It doesn’t show up the same for everyone, and I told you it takes a long time. It shows up through other things. Diseases that normally only get people with leukemia, or organ donors, because their immune systems are shot. It kills the immune system. It kills the ability to fight back against infection. You -” Brian cleared his throat.

“Have courage, darling. I need it.”

Brian took a deep breath. “Exhaustion. Weight loss. A skin cancer called Kaposi’s Sarcoma, that’s the lesions I told you about, they’re purplish. Pneumonia caused by spores in the air. A kind of herpes. It - it makes Hepatitis worse.” Brian felt his throat getting tighter. “Toxoplasmosis, from cats, it destroys the brain. You didn’t … you don’t clean your own cats’ litter boxes, thank god…”

“Thank you, dear, I won’t make you continue.”

“It destroyed your foot, you couldn’t stand, it looked awful…”

Freddie’s voice was kind. “Brian, love, you can stop. I’m so sorry.”

Brian laughed wetly. “You apologized for showing me.”

“Oh, darling.”

“Like somehow it mattered more than you hurting…”

“He was right, your old me. Brimi, I shouldn't have made you remember.”

Brian sniffled. “Of course you should. Or what use am I?”

“Brian…”

“I mean, it’s got to matter, don’t it? This is all I can fix. This is it.”

Freddie groaned and murmured, “...while you are not safe I am not safe and now you’re really in the total animal soup of time…”

“What’s that?” Brian asked, just as quietly, “It’s familiar.”

“Ginsburg,” Freddie answered. “I suppose I could quote Wilde too. ‘For he who lives more lives than one, more deaths than one must die.’ ”

Brian sighed. “I do wonder sometimes, if I died.”

“You’ve said. But the poem’s referring to… never mind, it’s not relevant.”

“If you say so,” Brian said, doubtfully.

“It really isn’t,” Freddie said, “but you mustn’t spend all your heart on this. Surely there are some new joys as well.”

After a moment, Brian said, “Roger’s kid.”

“There you go.”

“I think John’s happier.”

Freddie offered, “You could meet your Anita sooner.”

Brian snorted. “She’d never forgive me.”

“What are you on about?”

“Anita won’t thank me for distracting her before she makes it as an actress.”

“The love of your life is in theater?”

“Soap opera and musicals.”

“You’re having me on.”

“She doesn’t like Led Zeppelin.”

Freddie exclaimed with shock. “It’ll never work, darling.”

Brian chuckled into the receiver, finally relaxing against the headboard again. “You said that last time, too. But it did, Freddie. It did.”

* * *

Mary picked up the third time Brian tried her number.

“Mary Austin.”

“Hi, Mary, it’s Brian.” It wasn’t urgent, but after arguing with his father, first over smoking in front of Jimmy, and then inevitably about cigarettes in general, Brian wanted very much to hear something in his head other than, _I smoked your whole childhood, it hardly hurt you._ It probably HAD hurt Brian, in fact - he knew from the way nicotine operates on the developing brain that it probably contributed to the very anxiety and depression that would always trouble him. Brian ached for a friendly voice.

“Oh, Freddie said you might call,” Mary said brightly, “I have his number for you.”

“Wait a moment, let me pull out my notepad.”

After he confirmed he had pen in hand, Mary rattled off the number for Freddie’s hotel, and Brian dutifully copied it down. When the last digit had been confirmed, she continued, “You’ve - you’ve gotten very close with Freddie haven’t you? Closer than you were.”

Brian smiled into the receiver. “I suppose I have.”

Mary mumbled something to herself that sounded like “...everyone I pick...” but before Brian could ask her to repeat it, she cleared her throat and asked, “Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Brian?”

“Excuse me?”

He heard Mary sigh, and she said, “Look, Brian, I don’t claim to know what’s going on at home,” and Brian quickly tried to think what Freddie might have said, or when Roger was last in her presence, what errors he’d have to correct or what truths he’d have to bury, so he almost missed her continuing, “...but I don’t think that particular experiment’s such a good idea for either of you.”

“What - Mary, what?” So she wasn’t talking about things going awry with Chrissie?

“Brian…” Another, more intense sigh. “Look, you’ve always been a good friend, especially since you and I didn’t work out, and you know I want good things for Freddie, I just want you to be careful. He’s having a hard time figuring things out, first David while he was with me and then he tried to be with Joe while he was with David and now you, I mean I can’t say I’m surprised at all…”

Wow. “Mary, I’m not Freddie’s boyfriend?”

“You really don’t need to, Brian, I know it’s new…”

“Mary! I’m not.”

“You’re not?”

Brian just started to laugh.

“Oh Brian, I’m so sorry.”

Still chuckling, he said, “Really, Mary?’

“Well Brian, you know very well what it’s always looked like when you’re on stage.”

“But you’ve always had a view behind the curtain, haven’t you?”

“Yes I have, and I’ve had to reassess that view, haven’t I? Besides, Freddie’s shown me the new costume, Brian, and it’s got knee pads, hasn’t it? You can’t say that has nothing to do with his habit of falling at your feet.”

Brian reddened a little. He remembered that costume. “And leather trousers too.”

“There you are! Even you have to see what it looks like.” After a moment, she added, “And I’m quite sure Chrissie has made the same assumption I had.”

Brian startled. “How do you mean?”

“At the airport, when we were waiting. She said some odd things about Freddie, and about finally getting you back from him. She didn’t say getting you home, or back from the band, she said from Freddie.”

“Oh,” Brian said, nonplussed. “Thank you, Mary. I… thank you, I’ll bear that in mind.”

“...you aren’t offended. Well, I don’t suppose that’s surprising.” Mary laughed a little. “Is it odd that I wish it was true, a little?”

“Weren’t you just now basically warning me off him?”

“Not for Freddie’s sake, Brian,” Mary said earnestly. “He deserves somebody kind.”

“Joe’s a wonderful fellow.”

“And desperately unhappy here in London.”

Brian couldn’t deny that. He knew Freddie and Joe had been short-lived. “Well you can’t blame him hardly. He’s had to go right back into the closet because Fred’s so well-known.”

“I’m not blaming him, Brian, but it’s hurting Freddie all the same.”

Brian nodded fruitlessly. “I suppose that’s true.”

“Well,” Mary said, “Thank you, I guess, for being at his side as much as you’ve been. I should let you go so you can call him.”

They said their farewells, and Brian hung up the receiver, then stared at the phone number on the telephone pad for long moments, trying to remember what _ever_ he had been planning to call Freddie for.


	6. This Is The Moment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Living under prophesy

Freddie found himself wondering what had possessed him to suggest Venice as a destination.

Of course, if he were thinking about it in rational terms, he knew exactly what had come to his mind: Joe’s last name, Fanelli, was Italian. So surely a visit to Italy could spark some interest, and if they were going to go to Italy, why, then Freddie could go shopping for Venetian glassware, like Katherine Hepburn having her romantic getaway, no canal swimming required.

And Joe _did_ seem to be having a marvelous time of it. He had a guidebook, and had suggested restaurants and sights to see, and at this moment was expounding upon the islands of the Venetian Lagoon.

“They only closed the fort a few years ago, so all the old architecture is in good shape and the piers should be too,” Joe said, gesturing out their window in the vaguely appropriate direction. “Lazaretto Nuovo could be a good place for a private picnic if we hire a boat.”

“But an old plague hospital? Really?”

“Oh, quite a few of the islands have served for quarantine at one time or another. Or hospitals, or ossuaries. Venice has always been a center of trade, so they had to close down for plagues every couple hundred years or so. But time’s long past and they’ve grown over so they’re lovely now.”

“Hmm.” Freddie said, as neutrally as possible. He supposed, under other circumstances, he’d find it delightfully morbid, if somewhat lacking in the comforts of service and shelter. Probably would have shared it with Brian, too, who had always had an appreciation for gloomy things. Maybe written a suitably dramatic song, had Brian dress as the harbinger of Death with his face so skull-like under the proper lighting.

It had less appeal these days.

“I do prefer my romantic getaways to be rather more hedonistic, darling. Champagne is limited in its charms without fine couches and a server to open it for you.”

Joe laughed. “You ever read the Poe story Masque of the Red Death? Bunch of wealthy types having a party while shit goes down in the town outside, thinking they’re safe but some guy dressed in red as the plague itself is in there, and one by one the guests fall dead. Ghoulish, but very good.”

Freddie shuddered, and quietly tried to control his breathing. In their weekend in New York, one of Peter’s friends, Mark, had talked about a place called Fire Island, like it was some sort of gay paradise year-round but especially in summer. Clubs and parties all night, and easy hookups in the safety of a sequestered community. Freddie had found himself instinctively pulling what he couldn’t help but think of as his very best motherly Brian impression, and had laughingly said he hoped they had a truly magnificent supply of prophylactics on hand, “because a dirty boy is only attractive in theory, you know. After the initial thrill, darling, you realize that it’s much more fun to have somebody who cleans up nice,” and then he’d winked and nodded over in Joe’s direction, continuing, “Maybe you can even get a taste afterwards, or more than a taste if they’re quick enough to recover.”

And then he’d joked around (in dead earnest), pulling raucous laughter when he said he could judge a beauty contest right then, and the boy who cleaned up nicest he’d give a lifetime supply of condoms. Oh, but he’d have done it, too, if they’d taken him at his word.

So maybe Freddie wasn’t going to panic for himself, but just maybe he was finally beginning to feel panic set in for everyone around him. As soon as he’d felt he could slip out, he’d found a telephone to call the one person he could be certain suffered the exact same malady.

Freddie cleared his throat and answered Joe, “Oh, the Decameron’s a much nicer story if you’re going to talk about everyone hiding away in quarantine. And much naughtier, too, with each person being royalty for a day and telling their very favorite bawdy stories to pass the time. I believe I have a copy at the flat somewhere, if you wish to peruse it.”

Joe made a noncommittal noise. “Maybe. But hey,” he paused, and continued seriously, “I should say the biggest perk of the picnic idea is that we could be alone. It’s great wandering around the city and all, but it’s not great having to always watch out for cameras.”

Freddie sighed. “And what would you be doing, in a foreign city, without the fear of cameras? Surely other fears would limit you.”

Joe huffed, and glanced away. “It’s not like I’d like to bend you over a park bench, but inside the clubs, where everyone’s in the same boat? Might go wild, hold your hand or some shit. Just a hint of honesty, you know? Not having to think about it.”

Freddie sighed. “Is knowing I love you never going to be good enough, darling?”

Joe looked at him sharply, silently, then looked away. He cleared his throat. “Do you,” he said, softly.

“Excuse me?”

Joe shook his head slowly. “I knew what this was, at the beginning, I think. David and you were on shaky ground, whatever you said, and I think I made a good infatuation cause I wasn’t gonna try to steal you away or anything. Safe, right? Wouldn’t ruin anything that was still working. But you’re doing a little less of everything without him to ...well. Perform to.”

Freddie swallowed. This was it, this was the breakup, now he just… had to not blow it. A corner of his mind wailed about the timing, right in the middle of his little Venetian romance, but mostly he just braced for impact. “I haven’t been around much,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Oh no, but you also didn’t ask me to come visit as much either. And you’ve been back with me for two weeks, Freddie, and called our dinner together ‘nothing important’ on the phone….”

Freddie winced. “I did forget to apologize for that, dear. I’m sorry, but you know I didn’t mean it that way.”

Joe smiled, shrugged, and looked out their suite window. “You know, Freddie, I think I’d be happy enough with you anyway. I can stick around with you, for years even... we get along, really. It’s just the hiding I can’t stand, not for the rest of my life. I don’t want to upset you, but…”

Freddie took a deep breath. “You mean, you’d want to stay as what… a companion?”

Joe looked back at him, with a curious smile. “God, you’re taking this well. I dunno, Freddie, wasn’t I supposed to be your cook anyway? I think I’d like doing that. For real.”

Freddie looked around the suite, found an unnecessarily ornate chair and sat down. He gathered his thoughts, but found no words waiting. He sighed.

Joe followed him cautiously, and sat at the edge of the windowsill. “Freddie?”

Freddie shook his head. “I’m not going to pretend we couldn’t all see this coming, Joe, love. To be honest, I didn’t expect you would offer to stay. I feared I might have to beg on hands and knees. But I thought you hated London?”

Joe shook his head. “I hated staying there in your - our apartment alone. Your apartment. It’s all things you enjoy, including me. My place there is… not a place I want in a relationship. But I could be with you as staff. As a friend. As someone who isn’t trying to be an equal partner when he’s not.”

Freddie swallowed. Well, he couldn’t deny it.

Joe stood and walked over to sit on the table next to Freddie. “We don’t have to stop everything. Just - sometimes friends and lovers have to be separate things.”

Freddie leaned his forehead against Joe’s thigh. “The others seem to manage it.”

Joe laughed. “That’s why Brian’s calling you at all hours, is it?”

Freddie shook his head, “John and Roger then.”

“Well Roger only LOOKS queer.”

Despite himself, Freddie snorted a little. “Is _that_ why it’s so difficult?”

“I dunno Freddie,” Joe said sadly, “Maybe. It’s a hard way to live.”

Silently, head still in Joe’s lap, Freddie nodded.

* * *

Later, when Joe had left to give him some space for a few hours to think, Freddie sat by the phone table, needing to call someone but not sure who. He didn’t want it to be Brian - he was too tied up in the inevitability of it, and he’d done his part really, helped Freddie keep it civil by assuring that Joe would stay.

Mary was arguably part of the problem - Freddie had always made an effort for her, and his efforts for David and Joe had been perhaps diminished by that. As manager of his household, his senechal of sorts, and with the public still thinking her his girlfriend, Mary kept all the formal duties and privileges of a wife. If she was his equal, they were not. Besides, she’d been reading some psychology book recently, and who knows what she had drawn from it.

Roger had his own drama in progress, John had grown wise in many ways but surely had no experience of this sort of heartbreak. Plus, Freddie hadn’t exactly… talked with them about things. Though surely they knew by now.

Freddie’s hand hovered over the phone. Then he grasped the receiver tightly as his finger turned the dial.

Once the call was connected, he found his voice a little shaky as he asked, “David…?”

* * *

A quarter hour later, Freddie hung up the phone, heavy hearted.

David had been gentle, all things considered. He didn’t know what he had expected, really, but it was probably a lot to expect anything more than detached sympathy from an ex over your next breakup. Aside from, “That’s rough,” and “More fish in the sea, you’ll find one swimming by soon enough,” David really hadn’t had much to say.

He supposed he’d been toying with the thought that Joe was the real barrier in their relationship, even though things had been falling apart before Joe had arrived and ...well, all the things Brian had said, back in July. Despite every challenge, Freddie had thought it a mystery that he and David hadn’t worked out, when they had once been so enchanted with one another that he’d had to come clean to Mary.

Now, Freddie found himself wondering if they had ever worked in the first place. Were they more different than he’d realized? Had he been pursuing the idea of true love from an actual lover more than the feeling of it?

He was startled out of his reverie by the ringing of the telephone. He shook himself, and took the receiver again. The accented voice of the hotel clerk gently said, “A long distance call for Alfred Mason.”

“Yes, I’ll take it,” Freddie said, and when the line connected, he said, “Brian, your timing is remarkable.”

“Nah, it’s me, Freddie,” Roger’s voice answered, “God, but you two have got joined at the hip.”

“Oh! I am sorry, Roger. I ...what is your reason for calling?”

“So you’re expecting calls from Brian, but I have to have a reason, that right?” Roger sounded thoroughly amused.

“Roger…” Freddie let some impatience bleed through.

“ ‘S okay, I’m fuckin’ with ya. Nothing real important, just want to get ahead of the news. I didn’t get in a crash or anything, but my car caught fire and you know that’s gonna be picked up and exploded everywhere.”

“Your what? Are you alright, Rog?!” Freddie asked, astonished.

“I _said_ I didn’t get in a crash or anything, probably just a cracked hose or an electrical short in a bad place. But it’s a fucking Ferrari and of course they’re going to have fun with it, so I thought I’d tell you I’m fine.”

“Are you certain, darling?” Freddie said, amused now. “That’s the love of your life we’re talking about.”

“Oi! You can shove it, Fred.”

“Will there be a funeral? I’m sure we can hire professional mourners to give it the proper gravitas...”

“Fred!” Roger groaned, laughing with him, “See if I care next time you can’t get your favorite tapestry couch on a shopping trip.”

“Lies, you’re more interested than I am. Is your paramour salvageable? What will you be doing for an automobile in the meantime?”

“Nah, she’s dead. Might get the same again. Or I might get one of those Jeeps with four wheel drive - you can take them anywhere. Over land, through a brook...”

“Ugh, next you’ll be telling me measurements,” Freddie replied, with mocking disgust.

Roger laughed. “Oh fuck off. How’s your Venetian holiday so far? Candlelit dinners beside a canal that doesn’t smell too much like fish?”

“Er - not exactly,” Freddie said hesitantly.

Roger picked up on the changed mood instantly. “What’s wrong, Fred? You ...uh. You’ve got your… you’ve got Joe with you, right?”

So Roger HAD figured it out. “He’s giving me some time to myself,” Freddie said. “We had a little talk.”

“Oh Fred, I’m so sorry. And when you’re on holiday, too.”

Freddie shook his head, as if Roger could see it. “No, darling, it’s alright. He’s - he’s not leaving me entirely. Joe will just be filling a different role.”

“Like Mary.” _Fuck._ Roger really did know. “Do you need somewhere to be, to not be alone? I’m sure Dom would love to have you with us.”

Freddie felt his throat clench, and his eyes grew hot. _We love you madly,_ Brian had said. _Nobody leaves you._ It was true. It was genuine. “Oh, Rog. I - no, it’s alright, we’ll finish out our stay.”

“After, then. We can keep you until Christmas, you can go around the French countryside buying champagne and tell us what to name your new niece or nephew.”

Freddie curled himself over the receiver, pointlessly trying not to let tears actually fall. This was it, this was the moment, and he’d never screw this up.

“Alright, Rog, alright. I’ll come.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To me, one of the most interesting things that Phoebe - Peter Freestone - said about Freddie was that he looked for love from sources he could control: "He got his love in non-sexual ways and in non-sexual situations. He loved his friends. It was that simple."
> 
> Working off of that model, surely Roger will always be the man at the pinnacle of it, all shipping aside. Nobody loves Freddie more, to this day.


	7. Under the Weather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Brian’s (not) up to and a brief return glance at the Impossible Fidelity Conundrum

“...so yeah, I’m fine, and I’ve told Freddie and John and my mum already.”

Brian felt a chill wash over him. He’d known about the engine fire. He’d KNOWN about that, and hadn’t remembered in time. “...Rog, oh dear God, Roger…”

“Brian, nothing happened.”

“It could have! What if you’d been on some stretch of road where you couldn’t pull over in time? Or what if it happened where there was nowhere safe to wait or… or phone to call…”

“Steady on, Brian, I’m not a helpless bird.” Roger’s voice seemed to echo in Brian’s head, under a litany of _he could have died he could have DIED._

“You could have been helpless…”

“Christ, it’s no wonder Freddie calls you mother all the time. Speaking of which, he handled this better than you. AND he had just had his holiday ruined.”

There was a brief moment of static on the line, which seemed to have an echo: Brian’s mind was buzzing, but at Freddie’s name he revived a little. Who knew when he had become so keyed to it - possibly thirty years ago, or more. But these days that instant alertness was a sweeter spark, so it took him a moment to register that Roger had mentioned something unpleasant. “What - how did he… what happened to Venice?”

Roger laughed. “I don’t think anything happened to the city, mate, only… you know he was there with Joe Fanelli, right? And you do know why?”

Brian smiled. Roger he could read like a book, like nobody else on the planet, and there was no question when Roger was trying to be circumspect. Roger knew, for sure. “Yeah, he’s his boyfriend,” Brian said, fondly.

Roger cleared his throat, “Yeah, well, about that… not so much now.”

“Oh. That’s unfortunate timing.” Brian was nonplussed. He’d thought Freddie and Joe were getting closer still, with all the pains Freddie was taking to go where Joe would want to be. Instead, here they were separating even earlier than before.

“Yeah, the total wanker.”

“Now, Rog, Joe’s a decent man.”

“Anyone who drops Freddie when Freddie’s gone and whisked them away somewhere is a wanker.”

“Well,” Brian said, still feeling a need to stand at Joe’s defense, since he and Freddie had been trying to figure out how to keep him safe, after all. And Freddie had known this was coming, that’s why he’d been going to such pains in the first place. “How did Freddie sound? Does _he_ resent Joe for it?”

There was an instant of pause, during which Brian was certain Roger was rolling his eyes. “Fred’s just glad Joe’s gone and taken the Mary route. And being all brave at not being operatically mournful. Dom and I are gonna take care of him ‘til his big Christmas party.”

“Oh.” Brian blinked. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that. On the one hand, Roger was the perfect man for the duty when it came to Freddie (in all respects but one). On the other hand, Brian felt guilty for some inexplicable reason that he wasn’t stepping in himself. _I suppose we’re all our brother’s keeper in our own ways,_ he mused. “Well, it’s good that you’re watching out for him. Better to handle heartbreak with friends than strangers.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Roger said. “Though God knows strangers can offer their own comforts. That I DON’T intend to know about.”

Brian swallowed, then cleared his throat. “Anyways!”

Roger laughed. “What, don’t want to hear about the hottest discos Paris has to offer? And WHO’s on offer there?”

Brain groaned dramatically. “You don’t have to torment me, Rog, that’s a choice you can make.”

“Nah, I’d rather have the laugh, thanks.”

“You don’t love me at all.”

Roger snorted. “No, but there are these dolls they make in Japan that…”

“Roger Meddows Taylor!”

“...inflatable and lifesize…”

* * *

After he’d hung up the phone, Brian stood there for a moment, marshalling his thoughts. Roger wasn’t hurt, but surely he might have been. What else should Brian remember? What other certain threats awaited? There was no guarantee Roger would roll his Jeep again, but there would be other accidents, surely. Yet there were no words Brian might say that would keep accidents at bay.

Not for Roger. But John had had his license taken away, once. He’d been drunk and driving, hadn’t he? And lucky to be caught. Was Brian doing enough to guard John against reckless drinking?

There were light footsteps and Chrissie appeared at the door. Brian, lost in thought, didn’t look up.

“I caught some of that conversation with Roger,” she said, “but I didn’t want to interrupt. I’m glad he’s alright.”

Brian hummed an affirmative.

“So…” Chrissie murmured tentatively, “We met Joe in July, didn’t we?”

Brian nodded absently, then frowned and looked up, to see Chrissie nodding as she left the room.

* * *

November drew to a close, and the rain was persistent, if not relentless. Brian found himself steadily more on edge, watching time tick past with few of his usual pursuits to fill it. No animal shelter since Save Me didn’t exist yet - not even the song, though he had all but decided to give it to the new album. No up and coming young rockstars to produce, no contacts at NASA to email (no email either). With all the rain, the garden was too much of a swamp to work on, and it seemed he was constantly in Chrissie’s way.

For her part, Chrissie seemed more willing to let Brian attend to Jimmy now that he was crawling. Her anxieties over being a proper mother to her first child had given way to an apparently sincere appreciation of the opportunity to do anything else for a few hours. It wasn’t enough to keep Brian occupied, and Chrissie objected to Brian leaving the baby’s toys all over the sitting room floor when she wanted to vacuum, but it made the difference most days between the void and being properly anchored to the world he was in.

The void still yawned before him. It manifested as a pang in his heart at seeing his mother winded when she climbed the stairs, or hearing his father, Jimmy on his knee, asking lightheartedly when he would get more grandchildren.

Chrissie started hinting at having a date night, and had shyly suggested they could see the new Star Wars movie. However, since the new Star Wars movie was in fact the holiday special… Brian felt absolutely zero urge to see that in the theater. Or ever again, really. He countered with the animated version of Lord of the Rings, which he didn’t recall having actually watched, possibly for assuming that animation was for children or perhaps because he should have been on tour right now. It might be interesting to compare it with his memory of Peter Jackson’s overextended efforts.

Ruth May gladly took babysitting duties for the evening, and they went out for dinner after the film, where they talked about it more companionably than anything else they’d discussed since Brian had arrived in the past. He didn’t really notice that she hadn’t taken his arm to snuggle closer during the movie, but had sat calmly apart - though this might have contributed to his feelings of ease later during dinner.

“Brian,” she said over dessert, “Are you doing alright?”

Brian blinked at her. “How do you mean?”

Chrissie shook her head and poked at her pudding with her fork. “Something’s been wrong, I can tell. You’ve not been normal for months.”

Brian winced, just a little. Then he shrugged. “It’s winter. I’m always out of it in winter.”

She scowled at her dessert. “Right. Well, you don’t always treat intimacy as one of your household chores, no matter what the time of year. If you hadn’t been so extremely attentive during the pregnancy, I could become quite self conscious about my weight.”

Brian flinched. “Chrissie, I don’t… that’s never about you. I just get lost in my head, you know that.”

“Well you can talk to me, you know. I am your wife, you can tell me what’s bothering you.”

He watched her bent head, and swallowed. _No I can’t,_ Brian thought, and following it, _no you’re not, that’s Anita. It should be Anita._ He took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Chrissie, I don’t know what to tell you.”

She nodded, and there was silence as she finished her pudding. And there was silence as they stood to leave.

Back at the house, having wished his mum goodnight, Chrissie excused herself to bed early, and Brian found himself in an echoingly quiet house yet again.

He shifted uncomfortably. Maybe it was a chore he was glad to dodge, but the body was still very young, and didn’t much attend to his mind’s discomforts. He decided to deal with that in the shower, and took great care to be very quiet while he let his thoughts drift to his wife.

* * *

“...and you should SEE the chandelier, darling, delicately blown baubles with blue and red accents, and a realistic wreath of leaves and flowers around the middle. I got it immediately, so Mary will have to figure out where to keep it until I have a great hall or something to hang it in.”

Brian blinked, and decided he really didn’t need to remember any of the last ten minutes of excited rambling about Venetian glass. He focused on the relevant detail instead, and said, “So you’re still in Venice? I thought Rog said you’d be joining him.”

“Oh, we’re leaving tomorrow. I tried to have Joe come along to see what miracles he could work with French markets at hand, but he wants some time to sort things out at home. Do you know - Brian, you’ve been proved right again. He offered to stay on to act as my chef. We had something of a chat.”

Brian hummed understanding. “And it hasn’t made the last of your getaway awkward or anything?”

Freddie paused. “Well. Less romantic, certainly. But maybe it was friendlier. I don’t feel, you know, so much that I have anything to prove to him. That’s already - already failed.”

Brian winced. “I’m sorry, Freddie.”

Freddie laughed thinly. “As if you have anything to feel sorry for!”

Brian hmmed and changed the subject. “Might want to warn Roger next time you get him and Joe together in a room. He’s fully prepared to hate him for jilting you.”

“Is he?” Freddie asked, sounding pleased. “What a faithful friend Roger is. I shall be sure to call him off the hunt.”

“He really is. Nobody like our Rog.” Brian smiled and looked out the window to where Squeaky was stalking around the rosebushes in the watery sunlight, ears forward and tail twitching erratically. “I’ve been occupying myself with nostalgia today, digging through souvenirs and records. A box of odds and ends has revealed, in its depths, a tape full of my guitar solos that I haven’t seen in years.” Brian picked it up off the table, and fingered it as he added, more quietly, “This time I shan’t misplace it.”

“How dare you lose a gift I personally made for you, darling,” Freddie said, amused. “I shall have to tell Mary you are not to be given anything that may be left in a box of odds and ends.”

Brian rolled his eyes. “I have bad news about all your polaroids, then. But speaking of Mary, you’ll never guess ...She had a theory as to who your next conquest would be.”

Freddie groaned a little and laughed. “Oh I’m sure. She’s been reading some brick of a psychological textbook. By someone named Kissey.”

Brian blinked for a few moments, then asked, “You mean Kinsey? The sexuality researcher?”

“Probably.”

Brian laughed. “She probably wants to figure out where you fit on the scale. Do you know, I mean you wouldn’t, but one time Rog and I got to hear a whole rant from Adam about whether his single experience with a woman REALLY made him a five or just proved that he was a six.”

“Is this supposed to mean something to me, dear?”

“Oh, sorry. Zero for totally heterosexual, no interest in your own sex at all. Six for totally homosexual, most people fall somewhere in between.” Brian looked thoughtfully at a fly climbing his window sash. “Like I’m probably about a one, just the circumstances were never right.”

Freddie snorted. “Didn’t you flee a young man in tears on our first American tour? Taking to our shared room as your refuge?”

“He was a complete stranger! And I was young, and it was all unfamiliar - I ran from the girls too, at first, you know that.”

Freddie just snorted at him again.

Brian rolled his eyes. “I did, at first. Anyway, if Macca can be so can I.”

A burst of delight. “You mean I could have a chance with Paul McCartney?!”

“Freddie! Ugh, me and my big mouth…”

Freddie laughed. “No, no, do go on dear. You, Maggie May, definitely can be attracted to the idea of being attracted to boys.”

“Hmm. Mary definitely thinks so.”

“...She didn’t.”

“Warned me to be careful, since you’re still figuring yourself out.”

“Oh Brian, I’m so sorry.”

Brian laughed at Freddie echoing Mary’s own apology. “That’s alright Fred, I know I’m not your type.”

“I have a type?” Freddie sounded amused, like that was an entirely novel idea.

Brian huffed a short laugh. “Muscular. Any nationality but English. _Short_ hair, and The Moustache.”

Freddie’s voice puzzled at him.

Brian bit his lip, but couldn’t control a snort of laughter. “The clone look, from San Francisco.”

“Hmm, well, there’s something to be said for a working man. Maybe you’re right, I don’t know.” He sounded dubious, and maybe a hint uncomfortable. “But you’re telling me ...habits. Ones I don’t think I’ve formed yet.”

“Fair. Still, very not me.”

“Let’s be reasonable, darling, you have your charms. You’re very passionate when you’re at work, for instance.”

Brian laughed. “All that means is that you want the old lady.”

“Well, that old fireplace of yours IS unparalleled in her beauty, it’s true.” Freddie chuckled fondly, and added, “but she won’t sing for me.”

Brian grinned, a spark of mischief, at the receiver. “Well THAT is because I know how to finger her right.”

Freddie’s laughter floated musically over the phone line, and Brian closed his eyes, basking in the feeling of sunshine that flowed through it.


	8. Transitional

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little time with Roger, then home to London for Christmas...

“Felina.”

“Is that supposed to be a play on Melina and Freddie?”

“Ooh, I hadn’t noticed that,” Freddie said, tilting his head to look at a sculpture they were passing. Fairly typical military man atop a horse, nothing spectacular. They were at a smallish gallery, where he and Dom had dragged Roger after lunch, amid his mockingly agonized protestations. “A point in its favor, surely.”

Roger rolled his eyes and pointed at a painting of a woman reclining. “What’s ridiculous there is, sure, she can be in front of all those people naked, but there’s absolutely no reason for her to have just a scrap of cloth dangling off her tits and about to fall any second. She’s not even trying to hold it on, it’s just there.”

“It is an odd setting for a striptease,” Dom agreed.

Freddie shook his head. “Various censors sometimes added details like that decades later, to assuage the sensibilities of the church.”

“Oh,” Roger said, “tossers.”

“Quite. Sylvester?”

Dom tossed him a sarcastic look over her shoulder. “Be serious.”

Freddie smiled. “Katherine?” He did seem to have Hepburn on the mind recently.

“Like Great Catherine? That was a horrible movie, Jo made me see it. Had Peter O’Toole being ridiculous as usual,” Roger complained.

Freddie raised an eyebrow at him.

Roger raised his eyebrows back at him. “If you ever had to see The Ruling Class … actually, fuck, you’d love it. But it should have been half as long and maybe I’d like it. IF they didn’t have the fucking musical numbers.”

Freddie chuckled. “Well, I think I prefer his costar anyway, darling.”

Roger wrinkled his nose thoughtfully. “Who was it who played Catherine… Jeanne Moreau? Eh, she’s alright.”

Dom made an interested noise. “She won Cannes once. Tied, actually, with Melina Mercouri.”

Freddie grinned at Dom. “Did she? Not the costar I meant, though, dear. Or the namesake.”

“Eh?” Roger noised.

Freddie turned his glance back to Roger. “O'Toole calls Omar Sharif ‘Freddie’, you know.”

Roger gave a quick nod. “Oh, okay.” Then a few seconds later, he looked back at Freddie and snorted a laugh.

“What.”

“Oh, just imagining you in his moustache, is all.”

Freddie side-eyed him. With a mock scowl, he said, “I could pull off a moustache.”

“Please don’t,” Roger swiftly replied.

“Or you’ll what, darling?” Freddie answered with a grin.

Dom cut in, “You probably could. You’ve got the jaw for it.”

“Thank you, Dominique,” Freddie said, his eyebrows telling Roger, _See, she agrees with me._

“But you’d have to cut your hair,” she added, “The disco look is getting a little old.”

Roger gave Freddie his own smug look.

Freddie stuck his tongue out at him.

* * *

Freddie thought that maybe he was getting the hang of this time on holiday thing. He was still taking advantage of the shopping, but maybe there was something to being away from home just for the sake of being away from home. Or at any rate, he was sincerely appreciating the easy companionship of Roger, rather than the tightrope he had been walking for longer than he’d care to admit. Years.

“Leo. Or something leonine, at any rate,” Freddie said as he reached across the Scrabble board to ruffle Roger’s hair.

“Oi! Gerroff!” Roger said, leaning back almost far enough to tip his chair over. “No distracting me during my turn!’

“Oh, I’m sorry darling, I thought you wouldn’t mind, being a full 45 points behind…”

Dominique, doing paperwork in the next room, snorted a laugh at them.

Roger growled, but kept his eyes on the board. 

It was easy, this. To Roger, Freddie had nothing to prove. For Dom, who kept her own counsel and treated everyone only with the respect they had earned, he had no part to play. But what else had he done, daily, since he had asked Brian all those years ago if he could court Mary, in trying to make just one of his romances last forever? Tried to prove himself, played his part, loving or jealous or giving.

But he couldn’t just wait for some unknown future ‘magic’ that Brian hinted at - not that he was expected to - some permanent relationship supposedly in the cards years down the line. Nor would he deny his curiosity about the unnamed gentleman, but also - things could change. The ‘magic’ might not go off with whoever he was. He might get told to fuck off from the start, if there ever would be a start.

In that same line of thought, he had suggested to Joe, before they’d left Venice, that they should take a night on the town and be each other’s wingman. It had had at least a little practical use - a talk that was none too timely.

As they’d left their suite, Freddie had said offhand, “Oh, you might want a few of these, darling,” handing Joe a handful of foil packets.

Joe had looked at the condoms in his hand, and then looked up. “Brian really spooked you, didn’t he?”

Freddie had tossed his head lightly, as if it weren’t a matter of deadly importance. “He makes a compelling case. And if his old doctors are chattering about it - did David ever tell you how bad Brian had it, back on our first tour?

Joe, he recalled, had shrugged. “He turned yellow, right?”

“Yes, he was dying,” Freddie’d said evenly, Joe registering the comment with a shock that said he’d never considered the symptom to be so immediately serious. Freddie had continued, “but when he recovered, it had made him too weak to fight off a stomach ulcer and that nearly killed him too.”

“...fuck.”

“Exactly, love. Nasty things spread through sex and blood. I choose to trust Brian’s instinct on this.”

Joe had sounded faintly shaken, but rallied with, “But there’s a vaccine for that. We helped get the Hepatitis vaccine made, our community did.”

Freddie had smiled thinly. “Yes, we make excellent lab rats, don’t we? Especially for people who’d rather we’d never been born in the first place.”

In his mind’s eye, he saw how Joe had blinked at him, and then pocketed his handful.

Perhaps the romance could never last, but how could Freddie regret it, if it made the difference and kept just one friend alive with him? If Joe had never come into his life, Freddie could never have even tried to save him. It mattered that they’d had something, surely.

“Oi.” When Freddie looked up, Roger was watching him. “No mooning about. You haven’t won yet. 33 points, score it.”

Freddie shook his head. “You are going to have to work harder than that, you know dear,” he said, and prepared to study the board.

* * *

“Alright, Freddie, let me read this back to you,” Mary said, on the phone from London. “One tree for every public room, eight feet, fully trimmed. Garlands for doors and hallways. Delivery of small articles of Venetian glass to be sorted into gifts for each person attending unless they already have a gift designated. Joe will be preparing the main dishes, desserts for 30 people to be catered. Wine delivery to precede you from France, beer for 30 people, assorted liquors and hire a bartender for the evening.”

“You have the thread of it, Mary, use your judgement if I’ve forgotten anything. How is the cataloguing proceeding?”

“Slightly more complicated with the glass delivery. A chandelier, Freddie? Shall I hang it over your bed, or would you like to decorate your wardrobe, since your current ceiling heights would have your guests permanently entangled in it…”

Freddie laughed at the mental image. ONE guest in particular. “Into storage, for now. We’ll find a mansion to house everything soon enough. Has my assistant been a proper help to you, love?”

Mary hummed. “He does what he’s told, but slowly. I think Paul feels he’s wasting his talents. Why did you decide to holiday without him, anyway? Isn’t his job to take care of the little things like hotel and transport, so Joe wouldn’t have to act your valet as well as… anyway.”

Freddie shook his head. “We managed gracefully, Mary. And as for why ...it’s not exactly my story to tell. But Mary -” he paused for a moment, then added, “He may not be trustworthy with secrets. The collection has nothing shocking in it, but …”

“Oh,” she said. “Right, then he shouldn’t have your hotel receipts. But you haven’t proof?”

“Not presently. I’m rather hoping he’ll become bored with my employ and find some other rising star.”

“Well, this might well do it. But I think he’s rather expecting a large Christmas bonus.”

“Not so little as to insult him, dear, but you know the purse strings so much better than I. Oh, and make sure Joe gets a very nice bonus for the dinner, and that he has whatever sous chef or assistants he needs.”

Mary made an affirmative noise as she added the note. “He’s moved his things out, by the way. I have an address for you when it becomes relevant. A few more of us and you’ll have a full staff.”

That stung. Freddie was silent.

Mary sighed. “I’m not going to apologize, it’s true.”

“I didn’t say anything, Mary, but if you know a better way I can keep my promises to the people I love, I am all ears”

“No, Freddie, I don’t resent managing your estate, and Joe seems delighted at the prospect of working a kitchen again. But are you just going to collect us forever like this? A few years, and then a position in your new mansion, like Norma Desmond with an ex-husband as her butler…”

“Mary.” Freddie said sharply.

She huffed. “I just worry about you. You know that.”

“The solution’s hardly going to be in that book of yours.”

Mary gave a mirthless laugh, “No, I wish it was.”

“It’s not your duty, darling, to make my life work for me. Apart from the estate, obviously. Fortunately, Brian thought your attempt an amusing anecdote.”

“Oh god, Brian,” she said, “He just sounded so… you should have heard how he responded when I asked him if you’d grown close.”

Freddie smiled. “Yes, he’s been very affectionate since his son was born”

“Well I suppose that could be it,” Mary said doubtfully, “but ...well never mind.”

“People aren’t that easy to codify, my dear.”

“No, they certainly aren’t.”

* * *

Freddie returned to England two days before the Christmas party, with Roger and Dom sharing his flight but then continuing to Surrey to settle her into Roger’s estate for the next few months. Freddie made himself a nuisance urging his driver on so he could get home to see Tom and Jerry as soon as possible.

Well, they _were_ his own most perfect feline companions, he deserved to see them immediately or even sooner.

When Freddie could spare some attention from his meowing darlings, he looked around the flat. The simpler decorations for the party were already up, those that wouldn’t be mussed by everyday existence in the course of 48 hours. It made the flat more welcoming.

And Joe was here.

“I’ve moved my things to the new apartment,” he told Freddie, “but I don’t have to stay there myself if you’d rather have company while you’re home.”

Freddie smiled, honestly relieved. “You’re an angel, darling.” He took a deep breath and asked, “Will you be staying in the spare rooms?”

Joe smiled back. “No rush on that. Not why we’re splitting up, anyway.”

Freddie nodded. It was kind of him, genuinely. The cold was no time to be alone.

* * *

The guests arrived by their ones and twos - Freddie had instructed Mary to find friends who were spending a lonesome Christmas, as usual, but he’d also invited the band and their wives - a thank you to Roger, partly, but also something made Freddie want to reaffirm the family, as it were. As if, not driven together by the rapid pace of touring and recording, he could come to simply want their company again. John and Brian’s idea, it seemed, was already bearing fruit.

When John and Veronica arrived, John looking more generally at ease than Freddie had seen him for the last few years, Freddie felt a twinge at heart for never noticing the toll life on the road had apparently been taking out of him. Veronica, for her part, was very light on her feet for being so visibly pregnant, and made a beeline for Dominique to coo over her much more subtle belly. Dom looked a little alarmed at Ronnie’s approach, really.

Freddie glanced around the room to see if anyone had arrived that he had failed to greet. Peter Straker had claimed a spot next to the piano, wineglass in hand, ready for the moment anyone should sit down to tickle the keys so he could sing along. Since he’d left the guest list to Mary instead of Paul, there were more old college friends than random acquaintances from the industry, which was rather nice in a way, but he thought he’d need to do a bit more work as the host at keeping the conversations lively, as a result of the rather different lives of most of the attendees.

Seeing nothing else pressing, Freddie snaked his way over to rescue Dom from Veronica’s eager advice. The room wasn’t terribly crowded, but one old friend, laughing too hard to be aware of Freddie passing behind him, took a balancing step back right into Freddie’s path. Freddie dodged him neatly, but in the process felt his own shoulder collide with someone beside him, who gave a feminine yelp. Turning, he beheld Chrissie, staring in frustration at a new purple splotch on her cocktail dress.

“Oh my darling, I am sorry,” Freddie said to her.

Chrissie turned her eyes up to him and sighed. “I’m sure you didn’t mean to.”

Brian was looking over his head, and added, “Of course not, I saw how Mark nearly bowled you over.” He looked back down to Freddie. “You’re alright?”

Freddie snorted. “I’m not the one who got decorated. Chrissie, I’m sure we can get that out with a little vodka. Does wonders for wine stains.”

Brian piped up, then, “I can go get that for her, alright Chrissie?”

“Oh would you, Brian, thank you, you’re terribly sweet,” Chrissie said, in a tone that declared the opposite. Then she excused herself and went to talk with Veronica.

Freddie watched her for a moment, long enough to see that Chrissie had incidentally given Dom an opening to leave Ronnie for the buffet. Then he moved a few inches closer to Brian, who was still rooted in place, and murmured, “And what variety was that? Gruyere? Raclette?”

Brian grumbled, “Roquefort.”

Freddie laughed. “And what did you do to rate the Listeria risk tonight?”

“Oh, I don’t know, I _never_ know. She talks around things, as if I should read her mind,” Brian groaned. “That’s the worst of it. You know, I once thought that the worst thing in the world was the stereotypical shrew, the wife who’s always battling. I thought it some masculine trait ill-suited to women. But when a woman is fighting you, she tells you the truth, she says right out what she thinks and needs, and I learned my lesson, I swear it.” He shook his head. “How strange is it to say that I miss bickering with my wife?”

Freddie reached out to give Brian’s shoulder a sympathetic shake, then left him to ask one of the servers to take some vodka and a cloth over to Chrissie. He ran into Mary by the kitchen, who offered to do the honors, and then since he was there, peeked in at Joe’s domain.

Joe was arranging a tray of some variety of canapés, and looked up at the door opening to smile at Freddie before looking down to his work again.

“Mmm,” Freddie said, somewhat sincerely, “Looks delicious. Very tempting to undo all your hard work immediately.”

Joe laughed. “Someone will soon, could be you.” He glanced up. “What brings you to the galley?”

“A breath of air,” Freddie said in false shock, “Did you know, lovvie, the room beyond that door is full of people?!”

Joe chuckled. “I gather that’s the point.” He looked up, eyebrows raised. “Why are you plying your charms in here, and not out there among the masses?”

Freddie scoffed. “You make it sound like work, darling.”

“Oh it’s only work if you’re getting paid for it, Tom Sawyer,” Joe turned his attention back to the tray. “Speaking of which…”

Freddie sighed dramatically. “Fine. I’ll leave you to your art.”

Joe shook his head with a smile at his little pastries. “Go charm your other friends, you can flirt with me anytime.”

“Oh, I’ll hold you to that,” Freddie said, and leaned over to give Joe a kiss on the cheek just in time for the kitchen door to creak open, admitting Chrissie with a towel in her hand.

“Oh,” she said. Then she cleared her throat. “Um. I have this… just returning the cloth.” She looked over to the oven, at the prep table, clearly avoiding Freddie’s eyes. “It worked like a dream, thank you Freddie,” she added, dropping the towel on the nearest open surface and turning to leave.

“Of course, dear,” Freddie said, watching her retreat through the door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact! Peter O'Toole really did call Omar Sharif Freddie their whole lives. He'd correctly guessed that Omar Sharif was a stage name (that Omar also legalized.) "Nobody's called Omar Sharif! You're actually Freddie something." ...LoA makes the second David Lean film I’ve obliquely referenced in this fic...
> 
> I'm actually really fond of The Ruling Class, but there's no denying it's weird.
> 
> Norma Desmond is from Sunset Boulevard, making that particular comment a solid hit.


	9. Disassociation

Freddie’s Christmas party filled his apartments - significantly larger than the house Brian had grown up in, but still seeming tiny to Brian’s bemused memory - with happy, chattering people. The main room had a table full of presents, almost all from Freddie to the attendees, and he could hear the piano striking up in the music room, under Roger’s voice vying with Peter Straker’s for the more striking falsetto. It was a bizarre place for Brian to feel so isolated.

He had nosed out the bar to get Freddie’s prescription for Chrissie’s stained dress just in time to glance across the room and see Mary hand her the items in question, then stay to talk with Veronica while Chrissie dabbed her blouse with the cloth. That left Brian unneeded, and at loose ends.

So he drifted. Brian said hello to faces he barely recognized, people who must have been at school with Freddie, names that he couldn’t hope to unearth from five decades of buried acquaintance. He could feel his smile growing more and more strained.

A tap on his shoulder startled him, and he turned to see Dom, stifling her amusement at the jump he’d given.

“Dominique,” he said, shaking himself to get rid of the momentary alarm. “I hear you’re moving to Surrey.”

She laughed. “Yes, into that ridiculous house of Roger’s. It’s too much, I’m going to have to do something to make it liveable.”

Brian smiled, and shook his head. “That’s how Roger spends his millions, I suppose. He’ll get one for every continent, eventually. Once we’re all richer than the Queen.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt it.” Dom tilted her head. “But you’re being more cautious.”

Brian cleared his throat. “Well, an old habit. But I’m beginning to look into charity work. Some of the doctors who researched my hepatitis could use better funding, especially for collaborations with their colleagues in America.”

“Roger will tease you for forgetting you’re supposed to be a rock star.”

“Roger will tease me for that for the rest of our lives,” Brian said with a grin, “no matter my spending habits.”

Dom smiled. “If you put up with him that long.”

Brain dropped his head for a self-conscious laugh. “Oh, with joy.”

Dom tilted her head, and replied, “He really appreciated what you said about him becoming a father. I think he needed that confidence.”

“Oh, well,” Brian shook his head, “A much better one than me. I’m not exactly fun.”

Dom rolled her eyes. “He’ll teach the baby to be a menace in no time.”

A sharp pang of sentiment arrowed through Brian. He smiled and swallowed, and said, “Partners in crime, for sure.” He looked away and gestured to the other corner of the room. “I’m just gonna… thanks for the chat.”

“Of course,” Dom said, “don’t forget your drink.” She took a beer from the man at the bar and handed it to Brian.

Brian thanked her and took it, only realizing when he was halfway across the room that he hadn’t asked for a beer, so he’d essentially stolen someone else’s before they could taste it. Oh well, Brian needed it. He ducked into the cats’ room for a moment of quiet, closing the door carefully behind himself and taking a long pull of his drink.

Tom and Jerry were curled up together by the far wall, probably to escape the noise of the party, but Tom leapt up on the arm of a couch to sniff at Brian’s hand and accept a few scratches under the chin. Brian smiled down at him, then glanced absently around the room. It was comfortably furnished, if a little crowded between two couches, an overstuffed chair by a desk with beautiful intarsia, two tapestry chairs by a round tea table, shelves on every wall and large vases in the corners.

Brian wandered over to see the book Freddie had left on the desk. It was ancient and massive and leather-bound, and the title page proclaimed it to be a volume of The Royal Natural History. _What on earth…?_ Brian thought, and turned one-handed to the page Freddie had marked with a feather, sipping his beer.

He regretted that instantly, because when he read _“The general ground-colour of the fur of the tiger is a rufous-fawn on the upper part and sides of the body,”_ Brian snorted a laugh that left his nose stinging with carbonation from the beer that had tried to escape that way.

While he was still spluttering and wincing, the door opened and John wandered in. “Alright, Brian? You look like one of the cats that’s gotten pepper in its whiskers.”

Brian just shook his head and put his beer safely out of the way of the book, then closed it gently. “It’s nothing,” he said, gesturing to the book. “How was America? And ...the golfing?”

“It was good,” John said, bobbing his head in a nod, and then turned to look at the titles on a bookshelf.

Brian bit his lip, feeling rebuffed. While less distressing, in some ways the remembered disconnect with John was more frustrating than the one with Chrissie - perhaps because Brian couldn’t be as sure it was inevitable, and if he only said the right thing… but then he’d never actually known what the right thing was. He’d ask himself what would Roger do, but the answer was ‘Still be bitter, that when John left, it turned out to be permanent.’ In some ways, Brian understood that choice better than Roger had. John hadn’t left to heal and return to socializing and performing after five years of therapy, he’d left to leave.

Brian cleared his throat and made a foray: “Did you and Ronnie take in any shows?”

“Oh no, it’s not as if we were in New York,” John answered cryptically. Brian hmmed back, not actually sure he’d even been told what state they’d gone to, and ‘not New York’ hardly narrowed it down. Somewhere warm, presumably? But before Brian could stumble over another query, John added, “We did catch some music though, dinner and dancing though she wasn’t much up to dancing.”

Here was more stable ground. “Hear anything you want to try next week?”

John shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

“I know we don’t jam our songs much, but maybe we could start with a bit of a jam session when we’re in the studio again,” Brian said, thinking idly of Dragon Attack. Maybe they could make some sort of reprise for the new version of Fun It, tie the album’s pieces closer together.

John made a noncommittal noise and went over to give Jerry some attention.

It occurred to Brian, after several seconds’ silence, that John had probably come into the cats’ room for the same reason he had, to avoid socializing for a bit. Brian cleared his throat, excused himself, opened the door and waded into the noise once again.

* * *

The rest of the evening was a blur, filled with friendly people he felt he ought to remember better. Brian made a habit of nodding and smiling just long enough that the other person would be encouraged to keep talking about themselves for a little while longer, then conveniently noticing something he needed to do or someone to talk to on the other side of the room before they could ask him much.

He was fairly certain he’d done something similar when he really was this young, only he seemed to recall Chrissie carrying more of the burden of small talk, when she was around - she at least seemed to enjoy it. At the thought of her, Brian glanced around the room for Chrissie, finding her talking to a vaguely recognizable face - one of those names that had slipped into the nebulous distance. As if she knew he was looking her way, Chrissie glanced up and met his eye, expressionless, but turned her attention right back to her companion. Still irked, then, the stars alone knew why.

Then Roger was at his elbow, holding his elbow with one hand and Freddie’s acoustic with the other, leaning a little into Brian’s arm for support while he cheerfully (and tipsily) demanded Brian join as accompaniment to the singers.

As the evening grew late, Veronica and John excused themselves, Dom took over one of Freddie’s guest rooms and Chrissie appeared at Brian’s side to remind him that his mum would be waiting up for them to collect Jimmy and head home.

* * *

“He was no trouble, went down in minutes,” Ruth May was saying as she bundled up Jimmy’s things. He was fast asleep, and barely stirred to snuggle into Chrissie’s shoulder when she picked him up from the bassinet so Brian could fold it up to put in the car.

Brian leaned over to kiss her cheek with a quiet “Thanks, mum,” which only ached a little. When he looked up, his father stood in the hallway, pipe in hand, and gave Brian a nod that was only a little stiff. Brian smiled back at him, but he wasn’t sure it reached his eyes.

The house was thick with the smell of tobacco smoke, as ever.

Chrissie barely said anything on the drive home, or while she took Jimmy into his room to feed him one last time to help him sleep, but instead of heading to bed she came down to the living room where Brian sat with a glass of water and a book. He looked up and replaced his bookmark, a questioning expression on his face.

She stood, looking down at him, rather than sit to talk. Without preamble, she stated, “Back when I said I thought Freddie had been ...involved with David, you didn’t actually deny it, did you.”

 _Oh,_ Brian thought, his mind empty of a more coherent response. He blinked, and tried shaking his head.

Chrissie nodded. “I suppose you even gave me a clue when you said he and Mary weren’t really together, didn’t you?”

Brian cleared his throat. “I don’t really make a habit of speculating…”

She looked studiously neutral as she said, “David, then Joe, right? Who else?”

Remembering what Mary had said weeks ago, Brian watched Chrissie warily as he said, “A few groupies, I’m sure. Freddie doesn’t exactly tell us what he does when he leaves us for the night.”

“When did he tell you?”

Brian relaxed a bit. “He didn’t. I think he’s letting us figure it out for ourselves.” He paused, then added, “I had a talk with David in July. He was unhappy, and I was afraid he’d do himself a mischief.”

Chrissie shook her head. “It doesn’t bother you?”

Brian sucked in a breath. He really didn’t like how that sounded - Mary might be wrong about Chrissie’s assumptions, but there were much worse things Chrissie could be thinking. Before Brian knew what he wanted to say, he’d already spoken: “He’s my brother.”

Chrissie blinked at him, then looked away. She moved to a chair and sat, looking at her hands.

Brian continued, “Whatever Freddie might be, he’s my brother first. And I’ll look out for him as much as he’s always looked out for me.”

Chrissie nodded, and said, “I’ve been doing this all wrong.” She looked up. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Brian shook his head at her. “Why would I tell you? It doesn’t change who he is.”

“It could change all your lives, why wouldn’t you ...talk to me about it, think it through with me?” She was beginning to look distressed. “When you asked if we were friends, you really meant that, didn’t you? We aren’t friends at all.”

Brian moved to sit next to her, and nodded. “Yeah. Chrissie…”

“I think it was easier when you were cheating on me.”

Brian looked at her, stricken.

She looked back, miserably. “You’d rather talk to a stranger, someone you met on the road in America, than to your wife. But you need an excuse when it’s a stranger, don’t you? Then you’d come home all guilty and ready to make it up to me, and you _would_ make it up to me. But you aren’t acting guilty this time, I know what that looks like. Rather... Freddie’s known he can trust you with the real secrets since July so there’s no need to confide in strangers for either of you.”

Brian started, “I - “

Chrissie shook her head. “Because we aren’t friends, and you and Freddie are.”

Brian cleared his throat. “Why did you marry me?”

Chrissie thought for a moment, then shrugged, helplessly. “I had been with you for seven years. And you asked me. Why did you ask?”

Brian dropped his head. “I lived with you. It was the next thing to do.”

Chrissie tsked. “It was the only way your father would forgive you.”

Brian curled further into himself, and murmured, “Yeah.”

Bleakly, Chrissie finished the thought for both of them, “And now we’re here.”

* * *

They got fresh bed linens from the closet, and made up the bed in the guest room together, Chrissie commenting that they hardly ever had guests stay over anyway. When they were done, Brian felt a surge of gratitude for how she’d chosen to handle it all, and cleared his throat, trying to think how to express it.

She beat him to speech, saying, “Figuring out the details will take a while. I’m not…” she sucked in a breath, “I don’t think it will be fair to ask for marital fidelity if divorce is just a formality at this point, but. Don’t shame me, Brian. Whoever you find before we make this legal, don’t get yourself caught and in the magazines.”

Brian shook his head urgently. “I’m hardly going to…” He paused when she looked him in the eye, and changed to, “I know to be careful. I will, Chrissie, I promise.”

And then, maybe because she looked very small and mournful, he gathered her into his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Thank you, Chrissie,” he said softly.

She nodded, then pulled away. “I suppose it’s better that it’s before the holiday, isn’t it?” she asked, obviously expecting no answer as she turned to leave the room. “Good night, Brian.”

“Night,” he said, watching her close the door behind her.

In the silence as her footsteps retreated, Brian thought over her last comment. Guiltily, he thought she was right, in fact knew that this was, terribly, the best Christmas gift he could have gotten from her: freedom from filling a role he hadn’t fit for thirty-five or forty years.


	10. Static

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conflicts between the former future and the present

Boxing Day brought a chat show appearance, ahead of the special performance Queen would be giving on New Year’s Eve. Freddie had been tossing around the thought of leaving the other three to it, but the way Brian had said, “Yeah, of course we can manage without you,” had given Freddie second thoughts. It had sounded expected, routine.

It was always the oddest moments when Freddie found himself discomfited by Brian’s knowledge of someone he could have become.

Which had them all here, piled onto a couch and being peppered with questions by a smiling blonde with feathered hair. She currently seemed to be trying to draw a juicy quote out of them by asking about the ‘physicality’ of their performances.

“Well, you’ve got to give it your best go, don’t you?” Brian was saying, blithely ignoring her intent, “I mean when we’re up there on stage, playing, I know it don’t feel right unless I’ve put me whole body into it.”

“So the plan is to add a little spice to the New Year celebrations? Sex it up?” The host tilted her head and smiled mischievously.

Brian laughed lightly. “Well yes, I mean there should always, uh, always be a little sex in a rock and roll performance,” and he continued laughing as he finished, “but it’s all in service to the music, which ought to climax together with the show.”

Roger’s eyes went wide with delight, and he started to say “Oh that’s what you’re doing when you’re…”

Freddie had to stifle a laugh so he could interrupt Roger by telling the interviewer, “Yes, we do make an effort to sort of,” he looked back at Brian, just to catch his rising blush, “to try to pleasure the audience.”

Brian gave Freddie a double-take and had to toss his head with the tiny bark of a laugh it pulled from him. John put his head down as he started to giggle silently. Roger, however, was grinning at the host, almost an invitation for her to run with the whole idea.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing to us, is it?” she asked.

Roger winked at her and said, “With a little luck!”

She gasped in mock delight, then turned to the audience with a grinning, “There you have it. Queen, ready to make this New Year’s a real party…”

* * *

After the interview, they all packed up and said their brief goodbyes - they’d see one another plenty that week for finalizing the setlist, rehearsing, soundchecks and performance. Brian, however, caught Freddie’s elbow before he could run out.

“Hey Freddie, can I come over for a bit tomorrow? Are you busy?”

Freddie had thought Brian’s voice sounded tired, but not especially unhappy. But it did seem unusual for Brian to request an actual visit, particularly given the timing. Freddie puzzled at it, even as he answered, “Certainly, darling. Do you want to go out to lunch or hole up in the study with the cats?”

And so the next day found them, each on a couch with a bottle on the table between them. Brian had toed off his clogs and kicked up his legs as usual, as if his habit of folding himself into a smaller space half the time demanded that he stretch his bones the other half.

“...and the thing is, I know I wanted it, needed it, but I wasn’t ready to act, and I don’t know when I might have done the right thing. So Chrissie’s given me a reprieve, really, especially since she’s not actually sent me off to stay in hotels. And it’s easier, you know, to think well of her this way, like for the last few days we’ve had genuinely pleasant mornings. And maybe, well, this would be perfect really, to have her as a roommate, to - to make it easier to coparent Jimmy when I’m there.”

Freddie hummed and took a sip of his wine. “How long do you really think that could last, though, darling, surely eventually she’ll want to be dating other men and it would be strange to have you home for that.”

“Oh.” Brian looked lightly nonplussed at the thought. “Well. That’s a thought for the future.” 

“Hmm.”

Freddie didn’t really think much of the chances. Brian and Chrissie had always been rather too close for comfort, like having something to prove, and that was only confirmed by Brian’s stories. Freddie realized that he might be lightly hypocritical in his thinking, but at least he’d never called himself something like Mark Austin as a hotel pseudonym. It would grate on Chrissie, being in one another’s laps, without the promise of a future.

Freddie shook his head to clear it from unhelpful opinions, and tried a foray into standard post-breakup comforting. “There’s more good to be had from it, though, lovvie. You might go ahead and find that Anita of yours now.”

Instead of triggering the smile he’d expected, the comment seemed to almost sap the optimism and energy right out of Brian. With his voice suddenly very small, Brian murmured, “Oh no, Fred, I don’t think so.”

Mystified, Freddie found himself erupting with the exclamation, “Whyever not? If you’re a free man now…”

Brian cleared his throat and interjected, “She’s not a free woman, I don’t think.”

Freddie paused a moment, then said, “But…”

Brian interrupted again. “She was engaged. A few times before me. I don’t recall the years.”

“Oh.” Freddie’s brow wrinkled in thought. “Then - pardon, but why the devil are you so caught up in the fidelity issue? I see your point about younger women,” he said, waving a hand to stave off a reminder of that element, “but surely if you are willing to leave her to romancing other men for a few years, even the spectre of her future self shouldn’t fault you for delighting the occasional lady of a certain age.”

Brian huffed, and swung his feet back onto the ground. “Oh, no, Anita would never have been bothered. She has got very particular ideas of what fidelity entails, and was never as troubled as I was about any of it. Not even my indiscretions when she and I were on the outs, and she would say so outright to the askers. It’s always my own ideas of what ought to be that get me in a fix.”

Freddie snorted. “Then you betray your own self on tour, and often. You don’t DO celibate, my darling.”

Brian stared at his wineglass. “No, I suppose I don’t.”

Thinking to lighten the mood, Freddie gave a laugh and said, “So don’t fuss that sometimes you’ll have the company of a mature woman. Or gentleman! IF you insist on proving your flexibility in that regard.”

It seemed to work, since Brian glanced up just long enough to roll his eyes in dramatic annoyance.

Good. Freddie pushed on, “Why EVER are you so sure about that, anyway? Whence the epiphany, Mrs. May?”

Something soured in Brian’s face, and he answered quietly. “I had a lot of time to think in the nineties, spent a lot of it rethinking me life.”

Thoughtlessly, Freddie asked, “Why, what happened in the nineties?”

Brian looked up at him, completely expressionless. Suddenly, shamefully, Freddie remembered.

“Oh. Uh, right.”

Brian looked down at his wine again, and started to swirl it around his glass. “There was this forum we had for the fans. Place to discuss things, on the… the internet, just think of it like a party line but for writing and pictures instead of voices. Everyone could see what everyone else was talking about. And early on someone asked if we’d let them keep stories the fans wrote there.” He stopped moving his glass, but kept watching the wine spin. “Some of them thought they’d hit on the perfect solution, wondered why ...as if it were obvious.” Brian huffed, and put the glass down, and looked out the window instead. “As if I were the solution to anything, instead of an absolute nightmare in any relationship. Poor Anita dangled fifteen years in limbo because I couldn’t figure myself out, didn’t want to love anybody, and there they thought I’d be the bloody solution to anything.”

It was a strange confession to hear. Freddie wasn’t even sure what exactly Brian was implying, much less having the foggiest what to feel about it, except that here was another of those glimpses into the leviathan-haunted depths, too foreign a world for him to be ready when this new Brian plunged suddenly into it. He lit on the one level he could really process, and said, “You sound angry about it, dear.”

Brian looked at him, and his expression did something complicated before he said, “Not really, I mean I was but at the - uselessness, helplessness of everything. Anyway, I thought about it, thought it through enough to see the real reasons why they were wrong. They didn’t know you, really, you were always good at keeping yourself private where it mattered to you, and they were grasping at straws.”

Freddie shook his head at him and asked, “Wait. Are you saying they made Mary’s little mistake? Heavens, Bri, how many people have tried to pair you up with me?”

At that, Brian laughed. “Oh it’s perpetual. There are always those who try to take the name as a description of us all, you know.”

“Well here you’re implying maybe it is, darling, more than we’d thought anyway.”

Brian shook his head. “I’m not going to be trawling the clubs with your entourage. I don’t need to experiment, I just meant the thought isn’t ... I wouldn’t be averse, given the right motivation.”

Freddie scoffed, “And that couldn’t be a particularly luscious piece of arse swaying on the dance floor?”

Brian ducked his head, effectively hiding behind his hair, and grumbled with a very embarrassed tone, “I ain’t ready to discuss this with you. ...only I’d have to care about them a great deal.”

At that, Freddie gave a brief snort and said, “You’re right, darling, you are NOT ready to be experimenting at all. And I wonder at you thinking you ever might.”

“Hmm,” was all Brian replied, and let the silence extend until Freddie changed the subject.

* * *

Since the New Year’s Eve performance was a one-off, Queen held a rehearsal on the 29th, during which they also sorted out the set list, including which songs to tease from the new album.

Roger and Brian were being predictably catty at each other and things were getting tense, so Freddie suggested they should run through Sheer Heart Attack next as a way to blow off some steam.

“You should really just give it a kick there, Rog, like you mean to bash the things in. And then, for the wild sequence…” Freddie thought for a moment, “...we’ve got them used to the pretended equipment destruction, I suppose.”

John offered, “We can afford choosing something to actually break since it’s just the one show.”

Brian scowled, “But that’s just wasteful, and an insult to the work of the maker.”

Freddie raised an eyebrow at him. “Hendrix.”

“That was different, it was like religious.” Brian shifted, obviously uncomfortable at the thought of a guitar in flames. “A sacrifice. Besides, he played with his teeth too, and isn’t that the whole point of your little eating the guitar bit?”

Freddie grinned. “Like we tried early on in the black and white days? Ooh, good idea, that would fit here.”

“Oh,” Brian said, like maybe he’d only suggested it because he remembered using it for Sheer Heart Attack somewhere in the future. Repeating something from his alternate self soured the idea for Freddie, but just a hint and not enough to turn around and reject it. Brian continued, “Yes, yeah perfect spot for it.”

“Alright then, Rog darling, count us in?”

Freddie found himself caught up enough in moving over and around the practice stage that he was at Brian’s feet with a hand around his legs before it hit him just how intimate the position really was. Not that he’d ever forgotten, but it was always a matter of survival to just never think in that way of anyone important, especially his bandmates. Freddie would have never made it through the way photographers habitually piled them over one another otherwise. A bright urge to look up was immediately quashed.

His reverie was broken by the voice of Roger’s roadie calling from the wings, “It’s alright, boys! I’m sure between the two of you on her, you’ll make a real woman out of Red eventually!”

At that, Freddie fell back almost in relief and looked up. Brian seemed to realize what Crystal had said and react in slow motion, dawning embarrassment taking his face simultaneously as a sort of awed amusement, as he crumpled forward over the guitar to bury his face in his hands and shake with mortified laughter.

Freddie, however, collected himself, stood and twisted just enough to point at Roger’s smug roadie while the man’s boss joyfully shouted encouragement at him to run. “You are buying our drinks tonight, Lady Crystal.”

“You’ll be getting them from RT then, since ‘e promised to pay for mine if I said it.” A squawk from the drum kit and a rattle chased his laughter as Crystal finally fled backstage and down the corridor, one fuming blonde storming after.

* * *

After the rehearsal, and after a companionable beer with the crew that Roger was genially forced to buy, Freddie still felt too full of a nervous sort of energy to scurry home like the parents in their little group. The band did have another free day before the performance, anyway. He waited long enough for some of the crew to talk about continuing on to strip clubs or bars, and as soon as Paul Prenter said he’d like to go to one of the suggested venues, Freddie spoke up to say it sounded like Paul could have a lot of fun there, winked, said he was off the clock and wouldn’t be expected to report in the morning. Then Freddie turned to Ratty, champion of the strip club idea, and said he’d join them for a dance or so - if only to get costume ideas.

He did join them, actually, but slipped out once Ratty was sufficiently entranced by the floor show, and Crystal by a waitress. His driver looked reluctant to leave.

Choosing a club to grace with his presence was oddly difficult. He’d gotten into a habit of leaning on others’ encouragement, and his assistant’s work to smooth the way ahead. But soon enough he was somewhere smoky and dim, shouldering his way through the crowd with his face turned away from the brighter lights, relying on the casual wear of a day at practice to allow him to blend in a little.

It was good at first. Whatever had lit the wild feeling in his chest seemed soothed by the anonymity of the press of bodies in the punctuated darkness of the dance floor. A sort of dull static took over, the freedom of taking a moment to move rather than think about anything.

He found a dance partner he liked: burly, sandy haired, wearing jeans like maybe he’d come straight from a job building bridges or such, except clean and neat. Wearing a leather cap like a policeman’s for a spot of interest. And just handsy enough to think it would be easy to blow off a little steam if Freddie was cautious about it.

Freddie broke away and walked smoothly - or as smoothly as he could with all the people - towards the privacy of the back hallway, and smiled when a glance over his shoulder revealed his dance partner following after. He ducked past the curtain and around the corner past the gents to make sure it was unoccupied.

He’d just confirmed that it was dark enough, and clean enough - there was a closed door that said “Electrical” on it - and started to turn back to find the man whose eye he’d caught not a foot away.

“Oh hello, darling, you startled me.”

The man chuckled and closed the gap. “So what’d you lead me back here to do to you, sweetcheeks?” he rumbled. It was an American accent of some sort. Not one of the cute ones from a rural town, something bland from one of the cities. In his head, Freddie could hear Brian’s voice saying, _Muscular. Any nationality but English._ And his own comment, _Well, there’s something to be said for a working man._ He had that sour feeling again, of stepping in his own footsteps.

Freddie swallowed the thought, though, and said, “Nothing too complicated, something easy.”

“That depends how easy you can be, doesn’t it?” the man said and reached around to indicate his intentions with a grope.

An alarm went off in Freddie’s mind, and he retreated into a plastic smile. “Ooh, but safety around strangers, my dear. You don’t know where I’ve been.”

“That’s alright,” the man said, hovering even closer, “I’m not picky.”

Freddie slipped to the left out of his grip, and said, “I’m afraid I’ll decline then, darling, rather. You never know what’s drifting around and I hear the latest ones are nasty.”

The man, looking more brutish somehow, reared his head back for an instant and laughed. “You don’t mean you believe that Los Alamos conspiracy bullshit, do you. That’s actually cute.”

Freddie blinked. That sounded quite like the story Brian had given Paul. He gathered himself and said, “Whatever I believe, I’ll thank you for the offer and let you find another -”

“You’re not gonna fucking back out now,” the man’s face grew ugly as he lunged.

Freddie dodged to the side, old reflexes as active and reliable as ever. While the shithead pulled himself together, Freddie was still moving: right jab to the shoulder, and the man twisted, opening his belly to a left in the solar plexus. He made a sick noise and doubled over, putting him in line for Freddie’s final blow, a full-bodied hit to the jaw.

The man’s cap was knocked off his head, and Freddie grabbed it reflexively as a line of fire bloomed across his fingers. _Fuck, caught his teeth,_ Freddie thought. But he didn’t have freedom to worry just yet about whether he’d broken his hand or not.

The man fell back, just barely knocking into the wall behind him, and stumbled as if the ground moved under him. Freddie stepped back, keeping the man in line of sight as he went down the hall until he passed the curtain again.

Once safely surrounded by people again, Freddie glanced at his right hand. There was a slice across the middle and ring fingers, and they’d bruise in no time, but they still moved properly as he turned his trophy over in his hands. He pushed through to the bar. He snatched a wet bar towel for his hand and hailed the bartender. “You have an unsavory character in the hall by the gents,” he said, waving over to the scene of the altercation. “Your security might need to clean him up.”

Before he got an answer, Freddie turned to look for his driver. He was standing near the door, nursing a beer. Freddie caught his eye, and he startled, dropping the mostly-full glass onto the nearest counter as Freddie pressed through the crowd to meet him. “We’re out,” Freddie said, and the driver nodded, shrugging into his jacket as he held the door for Freddie to carry his dignity into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Re: the early Queen forums, all I really know is that they allowed fanfic after some strong lobbying by part of the fan club, but then pretty rapidly banned anything explicit, saying the band members had seen it and were disgusted because their children could find it easily. (Having been a kid on the internet in 1998, well. Yeah. VERY easy. Things I could never unsee.)
> 
> As for Brian rethinking his life around then, that's taken from what he's said about going into the clinic but also... there's a reason this story is named after one of the songs from his solo work.


	11. Feedback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The New Years concert
> 
> Short chapter, but I'm going to attempt to put the next chapter out sooner than usual. (We'll see if I succeed.)

Freddie hadn’t found it easy to relax in the morning after his adventure, and still remained restless on the day of their concert, which he supposed might go to explain why he was relatively early to arrive for the sound check. The techs were buzzing around the place as they had been for hours, and he passed John on his way in, who grumbled something about the venue not having proper hookups for something or other.

“Don’t mind him,” Ratty said, “The electricians asked him to figure something out an’ it turns out the whole theatre’s rigged to blow, or so you’d think the way Belisha reacted. Anyhow I’m sure he knows to cut the red wire with seconds to spare.”

Freddie grinned. “Oh, all in a day’s work, then.”

Ratty nodded, laughing back. “ ‘At’s about the sum of it, yeah.”

Smiling, Freddie made his way to the dressing room, where he spent ten minutes rifling through the costume chest, swearing over how few of the costumes were really in any shape to use. “We need a wardrobe mistress,” he finally groused to himself, standing up properly and flexing his right hand absently.

“And isn’t the wardrobe your mistress, then?” Roger said, entering the room behind him.

Freddie turned around for the express purpose of rolling his eyes at Roger.

But Roger was looking farther down. “Hey, what did you do to your hand, Fred?”

Freddie looked at it. He didn’t like to think about how the evening ended, or about the quick cautionary call he’d given Miami in case anybody at the club had recognized him. Nor about how his assistant had looked at the bandage and scowled as if he knew he’d been given the slip two nights ago, but had only said, “You’ll be wearing that old diamond glove then?” Mostly Freddie didn’t like to think of how useful the old reflexes were. Boxing was always something his parents had been proud of, but it wasn’t particularly HIM. On the other hand, he knew how to spin a story from it, turn an unpleasant experience into a tale of monster slaying.

So Freddie pulled out the leather cap, which he’d kept, and produced an elaborate version of events that was truthful enough, but framed as a laugh, proud and brave and brash. Roger definitely knew what he was doing, but he always caught on fast, and played along.

“I bet the bartender was just thrilled when he realized he’d be cleaning blood out of his bar towel,” Roger crowed after Freddie gave him the rundown.

Freddie laughed, “Well I did make sure the staff was paid for their trouble. I sent my driver back with appropriate recompense in the morning. But, I did have to teach that _singular_ example of a wanker how to go fuck himself somehow!”

Roger laughed hard at that as Freddie tipped his pilfered cap. “Should be glad you didn’t stuff that somewhere the sun don’t shine, huh? I’m glad you got him, Fred,” Roger said, in a more serious tone, “Guys who pull that shit ...I’d like to teach him a little lesson on the meaning of the word no myself. And then Miami would have to figure out how to get a murder charge lifted, and he’d hate me forever!”

Freddie grinned, and turned to grab a beer Roger had opened for him. Brian stood by the door, looking frozen. Freddie hadn’t heard him come in, but lifted the beer in a quick greeting.

Brian swallowed. “You got in some sort of fight..?” he asked, eyes darting down to Freddie’s hand.

Freddie waggled his eyebrows and pointed at the cap on his head instead. “And I got a hat!”

But Brian’s eyes were still trained on the bandages across Freddie’s knuckles. “Did anything… happen?”

Freddie waggled his eyebrows and said, “Absolutely. I won.”

Roger spoke up, “Some American bastard thought he could have his way with a little posturing at a nightclub two nights back, and Freddie gave him a proper answer, one to the gut and another rang his head like a bell. Fred cut his knuckles on the bastard’s teeth, but floored him in three seconds.”

“Now, Roger, darling, really. It was probably at least ten.”

Freddie looked back to the door, to share the laugh. Brian hadn’t moved. He wasn’t even looking at Freddie’s hand any more, but seemed to have zoned into outer space somewhere around the refreshments table. Freddie stepped closer and cuffed him gently on the shoulder, so Brian startled, looking to Freddie’s face with the same frozen expression.

“Where was Paul?” he asked faintly.

“Elsewhere. I had my driver. Come on, Bri,” Freddie said, “Have a bite before you collapse, darling, you look a mite pale.”

“There’s coffee behind you,” Roger added from where he’d leaned over to paw through one of the costume trunks.

Brian nodded absently, and moved over to the table, where Freddie noticed he didn’t actually take any food.

* * *

Brian’s distraction continued into the sound check. He played well enough, but had to be called multiple times whenever anyone wanted his attention. John even had to shake his shoulder once when Brian was just staring at the cord in his hand.

“It goes into your guitar,” John said with an expression of controlled merriment.

Brian shook his head, plugged it in and looked up at John. “Sorry, just. Sorry.”

“Did you have your coffee?” John asked.

“He poured it but didn’t drink it,” Roger said. “Jobby, you go get it for him?”

When they started the acoustic check for Love of My Life, Freddie saw Brian lean into his mic and take a breath, only to shake his head and duck down a little when Freddie started to sing. Freddie wasn’t sure, but he thought Brian might have been playing part of it with his eyes shut.

* * *

The show was something else again. Brian became entirely absorbed into the music, driven, possessed. Freddie hadn’t seen him play like this since Brian had first recovered properly after his sickness. He’d been wonderfully polished in studio for the past few months, but this was something beyond mere mastery. It was fearsome, or maybe it was thrilling.

Roger was eating it up. It wasn’t like Brian was going faster, but he was on top of every measure, and when they hit the transition from Bicycle Race to I’m In Love With My Car, Freddie could hear the grin in Roger’s voice, leaning into his work and giving good answer with his automotive romance. And when Roger was happy, that infected all of them, with John bopping away in his corner, and a heat in Freddie’s belly that made it feel like his voice could capture the wind.

It was actually a little difficult to calm down for the acoustic section, but getting the audience to clap along for Dreamer’s Ball helped. They were whistling and cheering, and it took several seconds to get them clapping in time.

“Now I want you all to take a trip with us,” Freddie called out, feeling light at heart, “Into the new year. 1979! Not too long from now, we’re going to New Orleans to show off the new album, and we want all of you there with us, to enjoy Mardi Gras the way we ought to!” That pulled a lot of cheers, and Freddie swung into song with a will.

He sneaked glances at Brian again during Love of My Life. Freddie supposed he must have been sweating badly under the lights during Get Down Make Love, because Brian’s cheeks shone a little, and he brought his arm up to wipe his face at the end. ‘39 went off without a hitch, though Brian paused for an extra long moment on “pity me”... and then they were back into the main show.

Freddie had almost dismissed his observations by the time they started Brighton Rock, and was scurrying around backstage during the solos for a quick towel off and costume change when the guitar paused. Then Freddie heard what sounded like the opening notes of Lap of the Gods Revisited. _It’s so easy…_ but followed by an answer with a lower, sadder note. Freddie stood still for a moment next to John who was looking thoughtfully at his cocktail options, trying to process what he was hearing.

“What the fuck is that?!” he heard Roger hiss in front of them. Roger was leaning into a fan to dry off and attempting to glare right through the divider at Brian going off script on the other side. Freddie started moving again and crowded close enough for Roger to hear him more easily.

 _It’s something he hasn’t shown us,_ Freddie thought. “An experiment?” he said.

Roger growled. “A few chords, a bar or two, sure, but this is a whole extra... He doesn’t get to experiment with the set list.”

John joined them, tilting his head like a curious puppy. “Not his usual style. Less indulgent.”

Roger nodded. “Yeah, well he’d better remember he needs to cue me back in at the end, even if he’s playing at being Jeff Beck for the night.”

“Not Jeff Beck,” Freddie said, hearing that Lap of the Gods cue again and again, higher, more strained. He swallowed. “Us, I think. If things hadn’t gone right.”

Roger’s lips moved, swearwords too quiet to hear painting themselves across his mouth. But then Brian transitioned to a familiar chugging riff, and returned to the echoing calls of Brighton Rock, so Roger’s shoulders relaxed.

Freddie refocused, rushing to get his trousers on in time, but his mind was buzzing. _He’s mourning me already,_ Freddie thought. _When nothing has happened. He thinks I’m just diving into danger, as intractable as his father._

Freddie was certain he had just heard his own eulogy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you didn't guess, that was Last Horizon. Which Brian hasn't said a whole lot about, but it was first performed before Freddie died - and if it is about death, it might have been for his father, in fact, who died the summer before Freddie.


	12. Watching and Waiting and Seeking a Sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New Years Eve, aftermath of the concert

Brian’s thoughts were in a whirl, but Red’s strings and song grounded him. He had been looking forward to playing live again, after all, and music was always a beacon in the haunted seas. He could pour all the excess emotion into it, and with that fuel the beacon would only shine brighter.

So Brian wasn’t actually thinking about what he would play in the solo, it was body music playing his fingers before his brain, and that’s probably why he found himself two bars into Last Horizon before he realized what he was doing. And then there was nothing to do but finish it. It went smoothly, the audience probably thought it was yet another teaser for the new album.

He expected the glare he got from Roger when he returned to stage, but was rather surprised to get a discreet thumbs up from John.

Freddie wouldn’t look at him. It took him a few songs to be sure, since obviously Freddie was doing his thing, conducting the crowd. He just did it all turned so Brian wasn’t in his field of view. Then the encores started with Sheer Heart Attack, which placed Freddie at Brian’s feet, finally facing him, and now Brian saw why he had been turning away. His expression was schooled to the performance, but there was a quiet fury in Freddie’s gaze.

After the concert, changing clothes and taking turns with the showers, Brian endured Roger’s vocal irritation at the unexpectedly altered guitar solo with only the occasional “I know, Rog, sorry Rog.” John seemed to have no opinion on the subject beyond a “It could have been worse, you know. The melody’s good, if you want to keep it.”

Freddie, however, was silent, eerily so. When the others made noise about heading out, he said, “Go ahead without us, we’ll join you there,” thus informing everybody he was going to have a talk with Brian. Brian wondered at how that had become a generally recognized habit since June, though if anybody had an opinion on it, they hadn’t told him. He wondered what they’d all decided the talks were about. A stand-in for therapy, perhaps? Or somehow disciplinary?

This one, perhaps.

Freddie cleared his throat. Brian looked up at him, but his face was unusually difficult to read, not emotionless but not angry, now. Intense. Freddie took a deep breath, then, and said, “You know, darling, I’ve watched you dying too.”

Brian blinked at him. It took him a few seconds to realize Freddie was talking about the hepatitis scare, and felt a moment of shock realizing how recent that actually was, only five years ago for Freddie.

But Freddie was already talking again. “I think I probably demonstrated at the time that I don’t think much of grieving for people when the bells haven’t exactly tolled yet. I cannot imagine that I would have approved of it in your vaunted future either.”

Brian swallowed. “Uh. No, no you…” His mind fuzzed, as he found himself off-balance before Freddie’s judgement.

Freddie’s voice grew harder, “I do not need you to confirm it, and what gives you the fucking right to decide I’m a lost cause in any world, I should wonder?”

Brian felt the moment stretch as adrenaline kicked in. He heard himself saying, “And when I come in to hear you laughing with Roger about you nearly getting raped, I’m supposed to laugh too?”

“What the - sod off, Brian, I had that situation perfectly under control.”

“Oh, sure!” Brian’s hearing seemed to have developed a sort of static rush. “Where were you, anyway, going to clubs without any kind of security?”

“I don’t need a minder,” Freddie interjected.

“...Trying to get someone to slap you around? Bite you on the hand like Bill?”

“Who’s…”

“Or were you just that desperate to get fucked that a stranger would do for a bit of rough trade?”

Freddie sucked in a quick breath, then bit out, “And what if I was?”

“Oh, what if you were!” Brian threw his hands up, and strode right into Freddie’s space, meeting the challenge Freddie glared back. “Must it be a stranger then? Perhaps anyone could take the duty. Do I have to fuck you myself so I can sleep at night?!”

Freddie was speechless for only a moment, staring up at Brian who was just beginning to realize what he’d said. But when Freddie spoke, it was crisp and cold. “As touching as your willing dive into martyrdom is, _darling,_ I’m not keen on stealing sacrificial ladies from the altar.”

Brian stood like a statue as Freddie spun on a heel and left the room.

“Well that was unforgivable,” Brian muttered to himself, and slowly, carefully, lowered himself onto a trunk, then just slithered to the floor. “Fuck.”

* * *

Brian couldn’t just stay in the dressing room. It was New Year’s Eve and he’d just played a concert. There were appearances to keep up, so his roadie appeared in the doorway a scant two minutes later.

“His Nibs indicated you might want some help packing up,” Jobby said, uncertain and apologetic, looking down at Brian on the floor.

Brian snorted. “He said I need a minder.”

“Maybe that too.” Jobby had the look of someone who had just been drawn into their parents’ quarrel when he was minding his own business. Brian decided not to feel too badly about that - with this band, that was part of the job description.

This was a different sort of quarrel, but it wasn’t like Jobby would know that.

Brian stood and toed into his clogs, then gestured to Jobby to lead the way. An impulse made him turn aside, though, to snatch the acoustic from where the instruments were being packed away for transport back to homes, studio or storage.

There were only a few hours to midnight, so the band had reserved a ballroom with a view of the Thames fireworks for the dinner and afterparty together. Chrissie had declined his invitation, though, which was fair really. But Brian would be stuck between people he didn’t want to talk to and Freddie who wouldn’t want to talk to him. Some means of escape seemed in order.

* * *

Brian only arrived a few minutes after the rest of the band, but of course the party was already in swing because most of the guests hadn’t been on stage only half an hour before. But the buffet table was still full of food, so Brian focused on filling a plate with dinner.

It was the sort of party that had people from the press around, so it wasn’t too raucous. There were music executives and their wives, as expected, and a few other assorted celebrities. John was talking to Jim Beach, half the roadies were gossiping in the corner. Freddie had the attention of several starlets. Brian looked away.

The evening dragged, but Brian could talk to people like this in his sleep if he had to. It was easier, even, since without paying close attention he couldn’t be nearly as irritated by them. Still, he escaped to the balcony when he thought he’d done his duty, and scowled up at the sodium-lit clouds which blocked out the sky.

His head ached from the smoke indoors, and the yellow-orange streetlamps assaulted his eyes even as they were reflected in the river. An old tune was creeping into his thoughts, something from his solo work, and he wondered if he could get away with taking the acoustic out of the coat check and picking away at it out here with the sounds of cars and the river. Brian began to work the words out of his memory: _fashion a dream of Heaven, hold it close again / only the Queen of Heaven watches us grow / hearing us cry / wondering and searching and losing our way in the mire..._

Brian’s reverie was interrupted by the door to the balcony opening and people streaming out. He glanced down at his watch. It was five minutes to midnight.

It would look strange to go inside now, against the current of the crowd. Brian moved off to the left, to the corner of the balcony by the wall, where hopefully nobody would pay him any mind. He saw Roger’s blonde head and Dom’s black one emerge and settle cozily near the front railing, and swallowed a mindless bitter feeling for a moment, reminding himself to be happy that things were going well for some of them at least. Then Brian felt a hand at his elbow, and he turned to see who was holding him.

It was Freddie, looking very serious. In an irritated tone, under the noise of everyone chattering, he said, “I’ve decided that I’m not done talking with you, Brian, but this is neither the time nor place. I want you at hand in the morning, so you should avail yourself of my guest rooms after all this.”

Brian blinked and furrowed his brow. “I’d have thought… with what I said…”

Freddie interrupted, “I am rather angry at you, yes, but you and I have to work together, after all. Besides the usual, that conspiracy of ours is too important to disrupt over your little panic attack,” his eyes softened a fraction as Freddie added, “and I do know that I’m all you’ve really got to lean on here.”

Brian swallowed, his throat tight. Freddie was always more willing to forgive than anyone deserved, and this wasn’t forgiveness yet, but it was a promise that atonement would be possible. He nodded, and got a curt nod in return, then Freddie was leaving his side to mingle again.

 _Fuck it._ Brian slipped through the doors and went inside to find the coat check. As the valet handed him the acoustic, he heard the crowd outside starting the countdown. By the time the fireworks started, he had found an unobtrusive corner, and started to absently and very quietly pick out whatever tunes came into his head.

* * *

The party was supposed to last to dawn, but Brian was able to excuse himself a couple of hours later, after Mary came over and handed him her key, with instructions to leave it on the hall table. Freddie was obviously going to remain the life of the festivities for hours yet. It was what he did.

It was odd to arrive alone to Freddie’s flat. Brian wasn’t sure he could remember any place Freddie lived ever being truly silent, and of course the moment he had that thought, the cats came to investigate him, Miko (scarcely past kittenhood) outrunning her brothers. Still, it was unbelievably alien to see Freddie’s home without other people to warm it. _He hates to be alone,_ Brian thought, and realized that Freddie would definitely have hosted somebody after the party under any circumstances, just to keep the emptiness at bay. _Maybe that’s why he actually is willing to talk with me._

Sleep was bound to elude Brian, so he carried the acoustic into the cats’ room instead of setting up in the guest room. He chose a couch, put up his feet, and let his fingers on the strings discover his thoughts for him.

He’d had so long to come to terms with things, but in the future it had been over, complete, nothing to be done. This was so much more terrifying, and recalled all the guilt of those first few years when he had helplessly wondered what he could have done better. Brian could almost hear Freddie’s voice out of that old dream, telling him _You have to be there._

“Well I’m here, Freddie, but I don’t know what more I can do,” Brian murmured into the dark room. “I’m just fucking it up in new and terrible ways.” Tom chose that moment to curl up on Brian’s feet.

Dawn had yet to crack the sky when a key sounded in the lock, and Freddie’s voice in a cheerfully bombastic tone bade farewell to someone in the hall. Brian stayed silent, not wanting to disrupt him from going peacefully to sleep. Nevertheless, the door to the cats’ room swung wide, and there stood Freddie looking down at him assessingly.

“Well, old man, you are certainly the same insomniac as you ever were.” Freddie’s voice sounded suspiciously sober, as if he’d spent half the party sipping his drinks and only pretending to greater drunkenness.

Brian attempted a smile, but it felt more like a grimace so he leaned to put the guitar on the floor instead.

Freddie huffed. “I don’t think I care how remorseful you are, darling. You’re going to have to face what you’ve said, you know. That was - you know, using who I am as a throwaway barb, that’s inexcusable darling.”

“I’m not trying any excuses, Fred.”

Brian looked up after a few moments to see Freddie studying him. Then Freddie spoke, “I suppose I should have expected some saviour shit like this to be waiting in your so-innocent bisexual fantasies -”

“What? No!” Brian interjected, rising to his feet, “I mean of course I would, but -”

“Oh there’s the little sacrificial maiden.”

“I should never have said that as an attack,” Brian said, quellingly, “but it wasn’t a - it didn’t come out of nowhere, Freddie.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “I said I’d have to care about him very much, didn’t I?”

“You really do know how to bloody shove your heel into your mouth, Brian. Why the fuck would I want to hear that you’d nobly suffer through…”

“It wouldn’t be a sacrifice, Fred,” Brian said in a low tone, “I’m not disgusted by the idea, I just - that’s not the point at all, but I didn’t mean... You are wildly more important to me than some casual interest, and yes I _would_ genuinely do anything if I knew it could protect you...”

Freddie turned his back, tossing over his shoulder, “Oh and that’s so very flattering. Nobody wants your sense of duty, Brian.”

Brian sighed gustily, sat back on the couch, picked up the acoustic and softly asked, “Sit with me, Fred?”

Freddie glanced around with a huff, but raised an eyebrow at the guitar and sat on the other end of the long couch, at the edge of the seat, pointedly not touching or remotely close to being in Brian’s way. It stung, a little. Brian took a deep breath and began to speak.

“I don’t know if you can know what a desperate feeling it was to have lost you. All that time we’ve spent - on top of each other practically, in tour busses and things, getting into the core of all the songs - we stopped just being ourselves, didn’t we? By now, surely.”

Brian adjusted his seat to accommodate the guitar, delicately plucking at strings more for something to do with his hands than to tune it. He continued speaking.

“We made an effort, Rog and I, to keep you present on stage as much as possible - it was essential to everyone that it be understood that you were a permanent part of us, irreplaceable, and your music was and would be very much alive. That we were continuing on with missing limbs-”

Here Freddie interrupted, “And what about John?”

Brian nodded, “We had his blessing, when we started playing as Queen again, and the man filling in for him dressed in plain black like the rest of the touring musicians. We chose another tack for the ones who filled in for you - they had to be up front and full of sparkle, so they were billed as featured vocalists.”

Freddie gave Brian a look, and challenged, “Even that adopted son of yours?”

“Adam’s not Queen any more than Spike, who was with us for your last two tours, or any less. He’s given us half his career, even when every single night he tells the audience plainly that there’s no replacing you. We didn’t even call Roger’s son Queen when he shared the stage with us, though all the touring musicians become family in their ways, because in the normal way they’re part of everything. But - look, everyone else would leave the stage at the start of our acoustic section.”

He cleared his throat a little and tested the tuning of the guitar again. Freddie gave him a thin, sarcastic smile, and asked, “And what are you going to play for me then, _darling?_ Love of My Life I suppose?”

Brian started the first few chords, and Freddie dropped some of his stiff bravado upon guessing correctly. Brian said, throat tight, “It’s a different song when I’m singing it all alone. I relied heavily on the audience, and told them if they sang very well, a little magic would happen.” 

He began to sing, “Love of my life, you've hurt me / You've broken my heart and now you leave me / Love of my life, can't you see? / Bring it back, bring it back…”

As Brian finished the first verse, Freddie moved closer, fully on the seat now and watching him closely. Brian didn’t look up, but lingered between verses to tell Freddie about the lights coming on in the audience, and how they looked like stars. “And I would sing only up to the bridge, after which we’d let your voice take over.”

Brian sang through the second verse, not looking up, and felt Freddie’s hand touch his arm during the bridge, when his voice cracked a little on “When I grow older, I will be there at your side, to remind you how I still love you,” and Brian tried, but wasn’t quite able to sing the last few words, the repeat and reassurance of saying “I still love you” yet again. He just closed it off with the melody and put the guitar down beside him.

Freddie reached out and pulled him over so Brian’s head was on his shoulder. “I’m sorry you have to remember that,” he said. Brian shook his head. He could feel Freddie turn to look down at him through the hair. “Well what do you want me to say, darling? That no accident would dare befall me now, that the gods simply won’t allow it? I could only say so, you know, and words are papier mâché.”

Brian kept shaking his curls. “I became happy in those moments, really. Eventually. The magic was having a glimpse of you back, to sing the last verse. If I didn’t look at the screen behind me, it wasn’t a recording of your last performance at all, and there I was as an old man with you singing beside me, and maybe your mother wasn’t crying in the front row.”

Freddie pulled back a little. “I am sorry for being so harsh, Brian, but…”

Brian sat up again and said, earnestly, “I have lived thirty years with you gone Freddie. I can’t do it again. I can’t, and ...I will but I can’t.” Brian reached out, and after a moment’s hesitation, Freddie allowed Brian to gather him in and rest his own chin in Freddie’s hair. “You don’t know what a treasure it is, to have you back. Not just an image, disembodied, a recording of your voice, but you, physically here to touch. I’ll take every piece of you I can get, I want anything you’ll give me.”

Freddie snorted, softly. “Well you won’t get every piece of me. But I am sorry for scaring you, lovvie, and I will always take care.” He laughed lightly. “I may still understand your, oh your earnestness, in my own way Brimi. The moment you were out of that hospital bed, you know, I took you to look at Zandra’s wedding designs.”

Brian smiled, and kissed the top of Freddie’s head, and didn’t let go. But he chuckled when Freddie mumbled, “Just watch, next time a member of Queen nearly dies, it’s going to be rings for all four of us.”

* * *

After that, Freddie made Brian actually put the guitar down and go into the guest room to shut his eyes at least.

It actually worked for once, possibly because of the relief that everything wasn’t ruined after all. Eventually Brian woke to hear Freddie talking to Mary in the hall.

“Was it a fight with Chrissie?” she was asking.

“Oh no, dear, and anyway it’s resolved. I needed to have a talk with him, that’s all.”

“Well, does he still have the key? He didn’t put it on the hall table like I asked.”

Freddie laughed. “You know not to trust him with small objects, love. Try the cat’s room, that’s where I found him.”

Brian was just coherent enough to think, _I should get up and help them look,_ but his eyes drifted shut and instead he dreamed of searching for keys, under chairs, in tree branches, inside the nesting dolls in the band’s likeness which a fan had given him, in stranger and stranger places as deeper sleep reclaimed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, hey, guess what? WE'VE HIT THE HALFWAY POINT. (roughly, anyway) The scene with Love of My Life? That was the source of this whole fic, and the first scene of it that I wrote. You know, this fic that was originally intended to be a one shot? So yeah, it got heavily edited (over the last YEAR) to fit everything else I'd written.


End file.
